


Accidentally We Fall

by scottmcniceass



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: College AU, Derek and Laura are werewolves, F/M, M/M, Smut, everyone else is human
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-18
Updated: 2012-12-29
Packaged: 2017-11-18 23:35:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 83,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/566545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scottmcniceass/pseuds/scottmcniceass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jackson was probably - no, definitely- the worst roommate ever, and Stiles would do anything to get rid of him, even if that meant attempting to seduce Derek Hale. And Derek? He finds Stiles annoying at best. Plus, he hasn't been into dating, not after the death of his family, but even if he was, he wouldn't go for someone so irritating. Right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

       Stiles should have been rooming with Scott. That was the plan from the beginning, when they’d both been accepted to the same college. They were already so used to each other’s presence that sharing a small room wouldn’t be a big deal. It’d be _comfortable_. Scott wouldn’t care if Stiles talked his ear off while he studied, Stiles wouldn’t care that Scott was a slob. It was perfect.

But Scott had somehow forgotten to hand the rooming form in on time, and now they were separated. Sort of. Scott’s room was only just down the hall, room 317. Stiles was in room 309, with a roommate he hadn’t met yet, who he didn’t know at all, except for his first name, Jackson.

Still, the whole thing sucked. Now he’d have to share his space with some random guy who may or may not turn out to be a total asshole, and Scott got to room with Isaac, who they both sort of knew from high school, though they hadn’t ever really talked, since they ran in different groups. Isaac was nice enough, though. A little timid and standoffish, maybe, but alright.

Stiles looked around the small room that would be his home for the next nine months. It was pretty ordinary with two small beds, each pushed against a wall; a medium sized side table beside each bed; a closet that wouldn’t fit half of his clothes; and a bit of spare room at the end of his bed for a dresser or a desk. He’d have to go out sometime this week with Scott to get one.

The best part, and most surprising, of the room was situated between the two end tables: a minifridge. He hadn’t known that those came with the room.

Stiles blew air out of his mouth and started putting his clothes away. He’d been wrong about the closet, thankfully. All of his clothes somehow fit. Okay, so like, two sweaters poked out a bit. Whatever. They all _technically_ fit and that’s what mattered.

He was just about to start unpacking his books when a familiar voice caught his attention and he froze, his entire body going cold. “No,” he said, horror struck. “Please no.”

“Room 309,” said Jackson Whittemore’s voice, echoing loudly through the hallway.

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut and prayed he was hearing things. This could not be happening. Nope, it wasn’t. If he just willed it hard enough, this would all be a dream and he’d still be at home packing and Scott would have put in the rooming form and his life would be great.

“What the hell are you doing?” Jackson asked, pushing into Stiles’ room. And his room, too, technically. The world was a terrible place. “Stiles?”

“This is not happening.” Stiles said firmly, shaking his head at the sight of Jackson raising his eyebrows at him, not looking any happier than Stiles felt. “Seriously? Was I Hitler in a past life?”

Jackson dropped his box on the table beside the bed on the side of the room Stiles hadn’t already claimed. “I’m going to the rooming office. You touch my stuff while I’m gone and I won’t have to worry about sharing a room anymore because my former roommate will be dead.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes and considered poking Jackson’s box of stuff, just to irritate him, but thought better of it. “Whatever.” He muttered, turning around.

He was going to kill Scott for this. He left his books half unpacked and followed Jackson out of the room, going down the hall to Scott’s. At least he could just hang out in Scott’s room whenever he wanted to get away from Jackson.

Jackson. How had this even happened? He and Jackson hated each other. Always had, really, because Jackson was a class-A dickbag, and Stiles had never gotten along with guys like that. And Jackson was dating Lydia, the love of his life. That was like salt on the already wide open wound.

Yeah, this royally sucked.

He knocked on the door first, remembering that Scott had a roommate and he couldn’t just walk in.

“Yeah?” Scott called, and Stiles pushed open the door. “What’s up?” He asked, frowning at the expression on Stiles’ face.

Isaac was laying on his bed, hands tucked behind his head. Stiles ignored him. “I hate you.” He said firstly to Scott. “I hate you so much you have absolutely no idea. I’m revoking all best friend benefits. I’m not helping you with your History homework, like, ever.”

Scott’s eyes widened. “Dude, you promised!”

“That was before I got stuck rooming with _Jackson freaking Whittemore_!” Stiles shouted, only faintly noticing Isaac wince when he raised his voice. “Sorry,” he offered offhandedly.

Scott’s eyes widened for a second and then his mouth started twitching weirdly and he sucked his lips in and just stared at Stiles.

“You’re trying not to laugh, aren’t you?” Stiles asked, sighing heavily.

Scott nodded, cheeks turning red before he finally just let it out, a loud, bellowing laugh. “I’m sorry!” He said through his laughter. “I am, but come on, what are the chances?”

“It’s really not funny.” Stiles said roughly, shaking his head. “Traitor. Jackson’s, like, king of all douches. And he hates me. One of us is going to end up getting smothered in the middle of the night, and I’m still not sure which of us it’s going to be.”

“Jackson’s not all that bad.” Isaac added quietly from the place on his bed.

Stiles turned to him, aghast. “Have you met the guy?”

Isaac raised his eyes and nodded. “We lived down the street from each other. We’re sort of friends.”

Stiles’ eyes narrowed. “And I thought I liked you.”

Isaac looked surprised for a moment and then he looked angry. “He’s kidding,” Scott said quickly, trying to diffuse the tension. “Right?”

Stiles nodded. “He’s right. I’m just freaking out a bit, okay? And this is all your fault.” Stiles turned back to Scott. “All of it. If I kill him, you’re coming to jail with me as an accomplice.”

“You’re being dramatic.” Scott pointed out, shoving things into his side table.

“I really don’t think I am.”

Scott sat down on his bed and looked up at him. “You’re probably right.”

“I’m always right.” Stiles said firmly.

Scott shrugged. “Want to go get dinner?”

Stiles shrugged. “Sure.”

Isaac looked confused by the sudden turn of events and Stiles smiled at him, feeling bad for the earlier comment about not liking him. Isaac seemed nice, and he wasn’t Jackson, so, that was always a positive.

“You want to come?” He asked.

“You want me to?” Isaac replied, looking surprised.

“Totally.” Scott answered for him.

 

* * *

 

 

Campus was in a great part of town so they only had to walk a bit before they were surrounded by options. There was more than one bar downtown, a grocery store, and countless restaurants, including a few fast food places.

Scott suggested McDonalds, Stiles firmly refused and suggested Subway, and Isaac was mostly quiet, kind of lagging behind them like he didn’t belong.

“What about you?” Stiles asked him. “Subway or McDonalds?”

Isaac shoved his hands in his pockets and kind of shrugged and Stiles got the sense that he wasn’t exactly comfortable in his own body. He was tall-- really tall--, but his shoulders were hunched in a way that said he wished he wasn’t. “Subway?” He said the word like it was more of a question than a conviction filled answer.

“Ha!” Stiles said triumphantly, steering them towards the restaurant.

“Traitor,” Scott said to Isaac, slowing down to bump his shoulder against the other boys. Isaac just smiled down at him and-- oh, wow, that could either be really interesting or completely disastrous, because those were not the type of eyes you gave someone you wanted a platonic relationship with.

The place was already filled with college aged students, sitting at tables or waiting in line. Stiles got into line behind a guy slightly shorter then him -- he’d hit a growth spurt in his senior year and was now pretty tall-- with a wide back who was wearing a leather jacket. Stiles mentally wondered if the guy was living in the seventies when Scott pushed up behind him, knocking him forward, right into that leather clad back.

The guy turned and any part of him that felt like mocking this guy disappeared. “Watch yourself.” He grumbled, narrowing green --blue? He wasn’t sure-- eyes at him before facing the front again.

“Holy shit,” Stiles breathed, stunned.

“Close your mouth.” Scott ordered and Stiles could practically hear him rolling his eyes.

“Mouth is closed.” Stiles retorted, hoping the guy in front of him hadn’t heard that.

The guy was _hot_ , okay? Like, let-me-rip-your-clothes-off-in-the-middle-of-a-crowded-room-and-have-my-way-with-you kind of hot.

It took them twenty minutes to get up to the counter, the entire time of which Stiles spent memorizing the back of hot-but-angry guy’s head. And back. Did he mention how nice of a back he had? Really nice.

“Are we eating here?” Stiles asked once they’d all finished getting their food. He looked around. There really wasn’t any empty seats.

“We’ll go find somewhere outside.” Scott suggested.

Scott was a bit claustrophobic. It wasn’t that he minded small spaces, exactly. Just small spaces that were filled with other people.

“Sounds good.” Stiles agreed, noting silently that Leather Wearing Hot Guy wasn’t eating in either.

 

* * *

 

 

“You get me something?” Laura asked when Derek unlocked the door to his apartment. She was lounging on his couch as if she lived there. She didn’t.

Laura had her own place, by request, a few blocks down. It was nicer then Derek’s, more modern looking, and a bit farther away from the college because “College kids are so annoying, Derek. They’re always walking down the streets drunk out of their minds.”

Why she then spent every waking hour at his place anyways, Derek had no idea.

“No, I didn’t.” Derek answered, kicking his shoes off and hanging up his leather jacket.

“Liar,” Laura called out. “I can smell the peppers and we both know you hate peppers.”

Derek sighed heavily and walked over to his couch, pushing Laura’s feet away, making her sit up. “Why are you here?”

“I was bored.” She said, shrugging and grabbing the sub from Derek’s bag, knowing without opening it which one was hers. “Why are you so grumpy?” She asked, raising her eyebrows. “Oh, wait, I forgot. That’s just your default setting.”

Derek ignored her and took a bite of his food. He needed to go grocery shopping tomorrow after class. He hated eating out. The smell of the skinny teenage boy who made his sub clung to the wrapper, making him wrinkle his nose.

They were quiet for a little bit, both of them contentedly eating. Usually Laura had the TV on, no matter how many times he told her not to. She’d always argue back that if he didn’t want her watching his TV, he’d cancel the cable.

“I got a job.” She said after a while, because Laura hated silences, even comfortable ones. Derek was the opposite. He preferred the quiet. It was easier to think.

“You what?” He asked, staring at her, mouth probably hanging open a bit.

She shrugged, like it was no big deal. “A job.” She repeated. “You know, where I do a service for money and-- not _that_ service, you freak-- I’m a waitress. That Italian place beside The Scene bar? The manager loved me, said I had the perfect look for their late night shift. I’m pretty sure that just means that my banging body is going to attract all the drunk college boys as they stumble out of the bar, but whatever. Money is money.”

“We don’t need money.” Derek pointed out.

He didn’t have to say why, because neither of them would ever forget why they were so well off. Maybe most people in their twenties would be ecstatic to be sitting on a fortune that they never had to lift a finger to make. Derek would give anything to give that money back to its rightful owners. Of course, he couldn’t. Since they were dead.

“I hate sitting at home all the time,” Laura said, oblivious to the dark place his thoughts had wandered to. “I need something to do in life, Derek. I have too much downtime. Plus,” she added with a shrug. “It could be fun.”

“Fun.” Derek repeated, deadpan.

Laura rolled her eyes and knocked her shoulder into his. “You’re the one who decided to go to college for four years just to ‘experience’ it. Nerd.”

“This is my last year.” Derek felt compelled to point out.

“Yeah, and then we’re free to go wherever! Like New York.” She said wistfully.

“We’re not moving to New York.” Derek said firmly.

Laura rolled her eyes. “We’ll see.”

She pushed herself off the couch and straightened her shirt. “Anyways, I’ve got a date tonight, so I really need to get home and get ready.”

Derek made a face at her. “Did you really just come here to eat and then leave?”

Laura grinned. “Yep. See you later!” She called over her shoulder as she pulled open the apartment door. “Love you, dumbass!”

Derek rolled his eyes and balled up the garbage left from their dinner, but he still muttered, “Love you, too.” under his breath. He learned a long time ago that you told the ones you cared about that you loved them, because you might not get a chance to again.

 

* * *

 

 

“Our RA says we can’t switch rooms unless we find someone willing to switch with us.” Jackson announced as soon as Stiles walked into their room that night. He’d almost forgotten about Jackson. Almost.

Stiles sighed. “Can’t you threaten someone into switching rooms?”

Jackson raised his eyebrows. He was laying on his bed, shirt off -- of course--, screwing around with his laptop. “No.”

“Whatever, I’m going to bed.” Stiles said, flicking off the light. He didn’t even bother changing out of his jeans.

The second he pulled the covers over himself, Jackson’s computer started loudly playing music. He threw a pillow over his head.

This was going to be a long year.

 


	2. Chapter 2

         Isaac integrated into their lives seamlessly. It was like one minute, it was just Stiles and Scott, like it had always been, and the next it was Stiles, Scott and Isaac.

Stiles didn’t mind. Isaac was funny, when he wanted to make jokes, and he never got annoyed with Stiles constantly being around. In fact, there had been two times in the week since they’d been in school that Stiles had run away from his own room -- and Jackson-- to take refuge in Scott’s, even when Scott wasn’t there. Isaac just opened the door, raised his eyebrows and let him in.

When Scott stumbled into his room, phone pressed to his ear, he gave Stiles one look, rolled his eyes, and then covered the mouthpiece. “Allison.” He mouthed, giving an explanation.

Stiles considered rolling his eyes right back, but decided he better not. He liked Allison, most of the time. He did. He’d just been so over their relationship for, oh, about three years. Any mention of that to Scott, though, made him upset. Stiles had long ago realized that it was best just to keep his mouth closed when it came to their relationship.

“Mhm.” Scott sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I _know_.” He shook his head. “Of course I miss you!”

Stiles made eye contact with Isaac, who was watching Scott carefully, and he remembered that look Isaac had given Scott on the first day and actually felt a little bad. He knew his best friend, and he knew how he was with Allison. It wasn’t that maybe giving another relationship a chance would be bad for him, it was just that he wouldn’t do it. Ever. Scott would pine after Allison until his dying day.

“Allison, come on.” Scott continued, apparently not at all concerned about keeping this argument from Isaac and Stiles. His face suddenly hardened. “Whatever, I’ll call you tomorrow.” He said, and then he _hung up the phone_.

Stiles might have gaped at him. Maybe. “Did you just hang up on her?”

Scott frowned and looked down at the phone and then back up at Stiles, eyes wide. “Maybe?”

Stiles stood up and slapped his best friend on the back. “Good job, buddy! Way to show her you‘ve actually got a backbone.” Stiles congratulated. “Now, take your phone back out of your pocket and quickly text her an apology before she has time to think through what just happened and breaks up with you.”

Scott let that sink in and then fumbled for his phone. “Shit,” he muttered, typing furiously on the little keys. “Why did I do that?”

Stiles shrugged. “I don’t even know what you were fighting about in the first place.”

Scott slapped a hand to his forehead. “Right, I forgot. We’re invited to a party and she didn’t want me to go.”

“Seriously?” Stiles asked, surprised. “How the hell did that happen?”

Scott frowned. “I don’t really know. I was talking to this guy in the cafeteria at lunch, since you were still in class, and he was really nice, and then he said that he was having a party, and I should come. And he said I could bring whoever I wanted.”

Scott looked extremely pleased at his ability to make new friends. Stiles didn’t point out the fact that the guy had obviously been hitting on Scott, because then Scott would back out of the party, not wanting to lead someone on accidentally.

“This is so awesome,” Stiles announced, swinging an arm over Scott’s shoulder. “It’s actually happening, dude. We’re going to break free of all our high school, unpopular stereotypes, become popular, go to a bunch of parties, have a shitload of sex--,”

“Stiles?” Scott asked, pulling him out of his reverie. “Let’s just try not to embarrass ourselves and see how it goes from there.”

Stiles nodded. “Right.”

 

* * *

 

 

Derek could have sworn he’d locked the door when Laura just came barrelling in his apartment, bags in hand, smelling like donuts again. Her apartment was right above a bakery and she always smelled like some sort of dessert.

“We are going out!” She announced, holding her arms out like one of the showcase girls on The Price is Right.

Derek just stared at her. And stared. Finally, her smile faltered and she narrowed her eyes. “Derek,” she said his name like a warning.

“ _Laura_ ,” he said right back.

She sighed and placed the bags on the kitchen counter. The apartment was set up so when you walked in, you were in the kitchen, and then past that was the living room, and then to the left were the bedroom and bathroom.

“Derek, please,” she said, pouting her lips in a way that had never worked on him the way it had their parents.

“I’m not going out.” He said firmly, reclining back in his chair, kicking his feet up.

The chair suddenly tipped forward, almost knocking him to his feet. He wished, as he did a lot of the time, that they were just a normal family. A _normal_ person of Laura’s size wouldn’t have been able to lift the chair with Derek’s weight on it. But they weren’t normal, and she’d done so effortlessly.

“Get up.” She ordered. Derek didn’t move. “Get up _now_ or I swear to god I’ll call Sarah and invite her over and you know she has a thing for you, and she’ll just drape herself all over your furniture in an attempt to be sexy. And,” Laura continued, coming into his line of vision, her face spiteful. “I’ll tell her you really love that perfume she wears and she’ll coat herself in it and you won’t be able to get the smell out of this place for _weeks_.”

Derek narrowed his eyes. He didn’t understand why Laura was like this. Why she felt compelled to be extremely social, and force him into it too. He wasn’t a hermit. He left the apartment. He went to school, shopped, drove around. Occasionally, when he felt like it, he would go to a bar outside of town, where he wouldn’t see anyone who might recognize him, somewhere he couldn’t actually make any connections.

But she acted like there was something wrong with him. Like he was broken, and she had to fix him.

“Can’t you juts let me--,”

“No.” Laura said angrily, and he realized it was going to be one of _those_ arguments.

Most of the time, you could count on Laura being pushy and boisterous and annoying during an argument. She liked to bother you until you had no choice but to give in. But sometimes, occasionally, she would actually get upset. When she was like that, there was no winning. Even if she eventually left in a huff, you still felt guilty.

“I’m not letting you waste away, Derek.”

“I’m not wasting away, Laura.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Oh, really?” She asked, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Tell me this, then. When was the last time you went on a date, huh? When was the last time you intimately _touched_ someone - don’t you get all squeamish on me, Derek, yes, I am talking about sex, so man the hell up, when did you last make connections with a person, even on a friendly level?”

Derek didn’t answer. What did she want him to say? That the last time he ‘intimately touched’ someone she burned down their fucking house? No. He couldn’t say that. Couldn’t answer, because she didn’t know, couldn’t know. If she did, she would leave him, too. Just like they did.

“Exactly.” She said, looking triumphant. Her angry expression had softened a bit. “Derek, honey, I know you’re not okay. Aright? You can stop lying, stop trying to protect me from your feelings or whatever bullshit excuse you’ve given yourself.” Derek wanted to cut in and say that, actually, he was totally fine, but she didn’t let him. “You are coming out with me. I’m going to drink enough booze to somehow get wasted, you’re going to sulk in the corner until some poor person takes pity on you and engages you in conversation. Then, I’m going to dance with every hot guy in the room and you’re going to have an actual conversation with someone. Maybe even hook up with them. Do you understand me?”

Derek’s eyes were burning emeralds as he stared at her. “And if I don’t?”

Laura pulled her phone out of her pocket and quickly dialled a number. “Hey, Sarah!” She said in an overly cheerful voice. “I know, we haven’t talked in forever. Are you busy tonight?”

Derek got off the chair and threw his hands up in annoyed resignation, resisting the urge to shake his sister, or tear her phone out of her hands and crush it. “Fine.” He growled, and she smirked.

“Oh, crap, I forgot. I have a shift at the restaurant tonight. Want to reschedule?” Laura said into the phone as Derek sulked off into the kitchen to see what the hell was in those bags she’d brought over. “Alright, TTYL to you, too.” Laura said, hanging up the phone. “Thank god you gave in. I could not handle spending the evening with that girl.”

“Did you really just say ‘TTYL’?” Derek asked, raising an eyebrow.

Laura glared at him. “It means talk to you later, and I did it to mock her without her knowing it.”

Derek only half grinned at her. He was still angry. “So where are we going?” he asked, voice neutral, not unhappy, but not excited, either.

Laura started to pull cartoons of Chinese food out of the bags. He’d smelled it the second she walked in but tried not to think about it, because his mouth had been watering. Now, he greedily dug into the food, using the plastic fork provided, not caring that he was using his counter as a table. He didn’t have a kitchen table. There wasn’t any need for one. Laura used the chopsticks, of course, because she was a show-off.

“A party,” she said easily, propping an elbow up on the counter. “This guy at work invited me last night. He goes to your college, so you might actually know someone there.”

Derek swallowed thickly. That was supposed to be a good thing, her tone implied. Derek didn’t feel like it. “Really.”

She rolled her eyes. “At least try to act like you’re looking forward to it.”

“I said I’d go.” Derek told her roughly, using that tone of voice that she hated because she was the alpha. She was in charge, technically, but Derek never liked taking things sitting down, so he put the power in his voice. “Not that I’d be happy about it.”

Laura rolled her eyes. “Don’t pull that werewolf bullshit with me, Derek.” She ordered, but unlike him she didn’t put any malice or power into her words. She never had, never tried to dictate him like that. “I’m trying to help you.”

Derek didn’t talk after that, because the only words that he could think were, _I don’t need help_. She wouldn’t listen if he said them.

 

* * *

 

 

“You’re not coming.”

Stiles said the words firmly as he pushed the clothes in his closet around. He didn’t even turn around to face Jackson, but if he had to guess he figured that annoyance would be mixing with the superior look that was constantly on Jackson’s face.

“Like I’d even want to.” Jackson mocked, breathing air angrily out of his nose with a huff.

Stiles whirled around and pointed a finger at him. “Uh, yeah, you do. That’s why you’ve been hovering around me since I got here and announced that I, Stiles Stilinski, not Jackson Whittemore, was invited to a college party first. Unless you’ve been out, but you were in the room every time I’ve come home this week, so I doubt it.”

“I’ve been out.” Jackson muttered, narrowing his eyes.

Stiles laughed. “Liar.”

“Whatever.” Jackson snapped, turning around.

“Isaac’s coming, too.” Stiles felt compelled to add. Just to rub it in that everyone but Jackson was going. “And it’s going to be awesome, and you’re going to stay here in the room and sulk. That’s what you get for playing Call Me Maybe at three in the morning yesterday.”

He figured Jackson would glare at him again, or make an angry retort, but when Jackson turned back to face him, he was grinning. “So I guess I am invited.”

Stiles stared at him. “What part of, ‘Everyone but Jackson is coming because Jackson is an asshole’ don’t you understand?”

Jackson just rolled his eyes and pulled his phone from his pocket and dialled a number. Stiles took that as the end of the conversation and went back to trying to find something to wear. He’d never been to a college party, barely went to any high school ones, and was pretty lost as to what he was supposed to wear.

“Isaac,” Jackson said, and Stiles whirled, shaking his head. “Hey, I heard you were going out tonight.”

“No!” Stiles shouted, hoping Isaac could hear him.

“I’m coming with you.” Jackson said, grinning at Stiles.

“No, Isaac, say no!” Stiles said loudly.

“Just ignore him.” Jackson told Isaac. “Yeah, I’ll be ready.”

Stiles glared at Jackson’s self-satisfied look. “You are seriously the worst person.”

“I guess this isn’t the best time to tell you that I bought a stereo system and a _Nicki Minaj_ CD.”

Stiles stared at him, horrified. “I will snap that CD if you so much as play one song.”

“And I’ll go to our RA and tell him that you’re destroying my property, you’ll be kicked out of the dorm, and I’ll be roommate free.”

Stiles closed his eyes and counted to ten, trying to calm himself. When that didn’t work, he blindly reached into the closet, pulled out the first thing he laid his hands on, and got changed.

 

* * *

 

Stiles would never, ever think these words again, and he wouldn’t, not even at gun point, say them out loud, but maybe, just maybe, Jackson _wasn’t completely terrible_. All the time, anyways.

It wasn’t hard to find the house the party was being held at. It was a little ways away from the college, on a street where houses were few and far between. That was probably a really good thing, because the music coming from the house was audible even from far away.

The front door was open and light filtered out onto the street. People were out front, some smoking, some just chatting. A few were stumbling away from the building, heading in the direction that Stiles had just come from.

“This looks promising.” Stiles had commented, frowning. “Are we going to get arrested?”

Jackson had just rolled his eyes and walked up to the house, leaving the three of them to follow behind. He was stopped by a large guy with a red face and a completely bald head.

“You got alcohol?” The guy asked, sizing them up.

Jackson gave him his best bitch face. Stiles seriously considered smacking him on the back of the head, which might actually be nicer then what this guy was going to do to him. “Does it look like we have alcohol?” Jackson asked, gesturing at their clothing, which wouldn’t be able to conceal any bottles.

“Then I’m gunna need ten dollars for each of you. Either you supply yourself or you pitch in.”

Stiles gave Scott a panicked look. He hadn’t mentioned that. All Stiles had on him was his drivers licence.

Jackson dug in his pocket, pulled out two twenties, handed them to the guy, and shouldered inside. “You’re all paying me back.” He called over his shoulder.

Okay, so it’s not like he said Jackson was nice. Just not a complete ass, just this once.

He walked in after Jackson.

If the music had been loud outside, it was deafening inside. If the house hadn't been so far from anyone else, the cops would have been called hours ago. As it was, the place was still filled with people, some sporting red cups, a few drinking straight from bottles.

“You made it!” Someone yelled, coming up to them.

The guy was short, shorter then Scott, with blonde hair and a nice face, made better by the wide grin on it.

Scott grinned at him. “I brought some friends. That’s okay, right?”

“Totally!” The guy shouted over the music, throwing an arm over Scott’s shoulders. “Come on, I’ve got some people for you to meet.”

And then he was carted off. Jackson had left sometime during that short conversation, leaving Stiles alone with Isaac.

“Does he realize that guy is trying to get into his pants?” Isaac asked, a pinched look on his face.

Stiles smiled fondly at Scott’s retreating back. The guy had moved his arm to his waist, and Stiles was just waiting for him to grab Scott’s butt or something. “Nope.”

“I’m getting a drink.” Isaac muttered, veering off to his left, and Stiles was left alone at his very first college party.

And that sucked just as much as it frightened him.

Stiles went off in search of something to drink as well.

 

* * *

 

Stiles didn’t know where Scott was. He didn’t know where Isaac was either. Jackson, too, for that matter, was missing in action. And the world was kind of pleasantly fuzzy.

He’d had a bit to drink, okay? Not, like, a _lot_. Definitely not. Just a shot. Or two? And a beer. Or was it three beers? Didn’t matter. He was feeling good. Feeling _better_ at least. Better about being abandoned in a house of strangers while his friends (Scott and Isaac, not Jackson) were off doing whatever the hell it was they were doing. Scott was probably getting groped without his knowledge, Isaac was probably drunk and trying to hook up with someone so he didn’t have to think about that, and Jackson was probably douching it up somewhere, because Stiles couldn’t really picture him doing anything else. Maybe he had his shirt off and was naming each one of his ab muscles.

Stiles started laughing to himself at that thought and stumbled forward until he was leaning against a wall. He was too drunk to just stand there without falling.

Beside him, an attractive couple was arguing. The girl was pretty hot, objectively, but he preferred his females a little shorter, maybe with strawberry blonde hair and a waspish attitude, named Lydia Martin. Ugh, why did he have to go and think about her when he was drunk at a party that her _boyfriend_ was attending?

Anyways, the girl was hot. She had medium length brown hair and a kind of heart shaped face and nice, hazel eyes, and she looked annoyed. She kept gesturing at something and then turning around to poke the guy in the chest.

Now, the boyfriend, on the other hand, was definitely his type. He was tall, just like she was, but his hair was darker, almost black, and he had just the right amount of stubble on his angular face. He looked pissed, his eyes -- green or blue?-- were narrowed and his arms, clad in a leather jacket, were crossed over his chest and _oh_. Stiles recognized him now. The guy from Subway.

Of course his girlfriend would be that attractive. Hot people flocked to hot people. That was, like, How The World Works: 101. He probably drove a Porsche, like Jackson, or something equally, annoyingly impressive.

Stiles kind of belatedly realized he was staring at them when the girl turned to him, her hand on her hip. “You,” she said angrily, her eyes piercing him.

Stiles looked around and then kind of pointed at himself. “Me?” he asked, like he was in a freaking comedy sketch or something.

She sighed and grabbed him by the arm, pulling him along the wall. “Yes, you. You’re fairly attractive and drunk enough to not be offended by anything Derek does or does not say.” She turned back to her boyfriend -- Derek, nice name, suited him-- and gave Stiles another pointed look. “If you don’t make at least an attempt at friendly conversation, I’m sneaking into your house into the middle of the night and shredding every piece of leather my hands can find. And maybe I’ll claw your car, too.”

Stiles must have heard that wrong, because he thought she said _claw_ and yeah, that was weird. He was so drunk. Oops.

And then the girl was gone and Stiles just stood there and Derek did too and it was awkward and Stiles _hated_ awkward, and now he was rambling in his head like an idiot.

“Your girlfriend seems nice.” He said conversationally. “A little pushy, but hey, I can respect a powerful woman.”

Derek looked further annoyed by that and shifted his weight away from Stiles. “I don’t have a girlfriend.” He muttered, staring off into the crowd.

“Oh,” Stiles considered that, and then, for good measure, checked the guy out again. He frowned at the conclusion. “But you’re hot.” Did not compute, his brain told him. “And you’re standing against the wall when you could totally be all up in any of that.” He gestured widely to the throng of people dancing.

Derek snorted. “I don’t want to be here.”

Stiles nodded. “Yeah, I can totally tell. You’re giving off some serious, ‘come near me and I will rip your head off’ vibes right now. I’d probably be really intimidated if I was sober enough to remember any of this tomorrow. But I’d probably still come over here anyways. Like I said, you’re hot and I’m kind of a glutton for punishment when it comes to people way out of my league.”

Derek looked confused by that sudden stream of words and opened his mouth once, closed it, opened it again. Like a really, really attractive fish. Which was a kind of fucked up thought, actually. Hot fish?

“Do you stop to think before you talk?”

Stiles laughed now, used to that. “Not really,” he admitted. “Even worse when I’m--,” he paused, eyes widening, when his body tipped forward out of his control and he thought he was going to faceplant. A hand on his arm stopped and righted him. “Thanks.”

“Next time, I’m letting you fall.”

“Your face may be really nice to look at but that personality is a piece of work, bucko.” Stiles said, closing his eyes. “I don’t think I like you very much.”

Derek chuckled, a low, gravely sound. “Me neither.” He agreed, and Stiles was way too drunk to tell if he meant the feeling was mutual, or if he was agreeing with Stiles. That he didn’t like himself much either.

 

* * *

 

There was something comical about the fact that both Jackson and Scott had totally wasted roommates. He and Isaac were _drunk_. Like, totally awesome, gonna feel like shit tomorrow, drunk.

There was also something really funny about the fact that Scott was forced to hold Stiles up, and Jackson was forced to hold Isaac up, too, but Stiles couldn’t figure out what it was. He was laughing anyways.

“That was a fun party,” Stiles commented loudly, resting his head on Scott’s shoulder. That was kind of hard, since he was a lot taller then Scott, but he managed it.

“It was alright.” Scott conceded.

“You’re only upset because that guy touched your butt.” Stiles mused, laughing all over again because, heh, butts. He was twelve years old on the inside, okay?

Jackson seemed to find it funny, too, because he laughed.

“That’s not--,” Scott sighed loudly. “Okay, he did, but I don’t-- I wouldn’t mind, I just wasn’t interested.”

“Right, _Allison_.” Stiles nodded.

Scott’s body shifted under him more then it had been through the entire walk and Stiles dimly noted that they were on campus now. “Yeah.” Scott said quietly.

“You’re bringing me down.” Stiles muttered, pushing away from his best friend. “Isaac, my friend, let’s bask in our drunken glory together.” He said, putting his arm around the curly haired boy instead. Isaac let himself be dragged away from Jackson, which was probably a bad idea because neither of them could really walk on their own, and together they were surely a recipe for disaster.

“Inside,” Scott said, putting a hand on both Isaac and Stiles’ backs, pushing them through the doors into their dorm.

He and Isaac trying to get up the stairs was possibly the funniest thing in the entire world. They stumbled, both of them falling a bit, gripping the banister and each other and Scott and Jackson, but somehow they managed it.

When they got to the top Stiles grasped Isaac’s hand in his and turned him to look at the stairs they’d just climbed. “We climbed this whole mountain.” He said loud enough that Scott -- or was it Jackson? -- shushed him. “We deserve a medal for that.”

“I’ve got Isaac,” Scott said to Jackson, rolling his eyes at the two drunk boys.

Jackson nodded and Stiles stared at him, dumbstruck. He remembered Isaac saying that he and Jackson were friends, but Jackson actually nodded and looked gratefully at Scott for a second when Scott put an arm around Isaac and helped him through the hallway and into his room.

Jackson didn’t care about things. Well, he cared about his Porsche, and his hair, and Lydia, but those things _belonged_ to him. Okay, Lydia definitely didn’t belong to him and she’d probably slap Jackson and Stiles for even implying that, but still.

“You’re still an asshole.” Stiles felt compelled to point out, but Jackson was actually helping him now, moving him down the hallway to their room. His grip on Stiles’ arm was a little too tight, but maybe he kind of deserved that.

“Shut up,” Jackson said, irritated. “You are a really annoying drunk.”

“Actually, I’m awesome all the time.” Stiles corrected, flopping onto his bed.

Ah, his bed. It wasn’t nearly as comfortable as the one back home, but right now it was like a little slice of heaven, made specially for him.

“You still want to switch roommates?” Jackson asked, and Stiles rolled over to face him. He would have been asleep if Jackson hadn’t spoken, but this was important, his fuzzy brain told him.

“Chyeah.” Stiles said quickly, words slurring because of the alcohol he’d consumed and the pillow his face was half pressed into.

Jackson was grinning that evil grin he had whenever he was about to do something to bother Stiles. “Alright,” he said slowly. “I’ve got a proposition for you.”

“I’m not sucking your dick.” Stiles said quickly, and Jackson rolled his eyes.

“Like I need you for that.” He muttered. “No, it’s something else. A dare, sort of.”

Stiles nodded, considering this. “Okay, what is it?”

“I’ll get Isaac to switch rooms with you, on one condition.” His smirk widened. “You got to have sex with someone.”

Stiles was about to ask how Jackson knew he was a virgin, because, hey, he could totally not be a virgin, that was a possibility, but Jackson pulled his phone out of his pocket to thrust it in Stiles’ face.

“You’ve got to sleep with him. Or no deal.”

Stiles stared at the screen until it came into focus. The first thing he noted was that Jackson was really bad at taking pictures of people. This guys eyes weren’t even open. The second thing he noticed was the leather jacket, and the wide set shoulders. And then the stubble on the face, and the dark hair.

He swallowed thickly. That, he knew, was going to be an issue. It’s not that he thought he was completely unattractive. He was decent. Semi. But he _was_ still a virgin. If he couldn’t convince anyone else to have sex with him, how the hell was he supposed to convince _Derek_ to?

Derek, the guy who was considerably less attractive on the inside then the outside - and that mattered to Stiles, it did-, who Stiles was pretty sure hated him after that five minute conversation they’d had.

There was no way.

And yet… “Deal.” Stiles said, feigning confidence. He smirked. “Looks like I’ll be rooming with my best friend soon enough after all.”

Jackson didn’t look convinced. “I doubt it.”

Stiles rolled over and shrugged. “Good luck convincing Isaac to change rooms once I win.” He added, and then he promptly fell into a deep, soundless sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles had a killer headache. He’d seen people with hangovers before, and he’d figured they were just exaggerating the whole thing. Now that his head was pounding in his skull, he realized he was wrong. Hangovers fucking _sucked_.

You know what’s worse then a hangover, though? Having a hangover and waking up to your roommate playing _Super Bass_ , loudly.

“You can’t possibly like this song,” Stiles groaned, rolling onto his back. “This isn’t even real music.”

“I don’t,” Jackson agreed from his bed. “But I figured you‘d hate it a lot more than I do.”

“You’re not wrong.” Stiles muttered, trying to cover the sound with his pillow. Every time the bass thumped, his head followed, and it hurt. A lot. “Just turn it off!” Stiles shouted after about thirty seconds.

The sound increased.

“I hate you,” he grumbled, willing himself to fall back asleep. He wasn’t ready to face the day. Hell, maybe he could just sleep the entire day away, wake up Sunday feeling totally refreshed, and then he would stab Jackson in the chest with the broken shards of the Nicki Minaj CD.

That was a nice thought.

He sort of fell back asleep for a bit, until someone hit him in the head with a pillow.

“I will shove that pillow down your throat,” Stiles threatened Jackson, rolling over.

Scott grinned down at him, clearly amused. “Get up.”

Stiles stared at him and then shook his head. “No. Never. I’m actually considering just spending the rest of my life in this bed.”

Scott rolled his eyes. “I need to get some shelves for my room, and we’re going to the grocery store, too.” Scott paused for a moment, getting lost in his train of thought. “Do you think there’s enough room on my side table for a microwave?”

Stiles made an uncommitted sound and sat up. Bad idea. Really, really bad idea. The room spun and his head felt like it was splitting open slowly, inch by inch.

“Don’t ever let me drink again.” Stiles said, giving Scott a pleading look. “Promise me you’ll punch me in the face before I ever get that drunk again.”

Scott chuckled and sat down on Jackson’s vacated bed. “I’ll try.”

“That’s all I can really ask for.” Stiles sighed and stood up. “Okay, I need to shower first. If I smell like this for any longer I’m probably going to throw up from my own scent, and while that would be an accomplishment, I’d really rather not go there.”

“I’ll wait here.” Scott said, pulling open the drawers of Stiles’ side table. Stiles didn’t have the energy to protest. “Isaac is still sleeping.” He added in a softer voice. “Didn’t want to wake him, so I came here.”

“Thanks for considering _my_ happiness.” Stiles said dryly, grabbing his towel and shower bag. “You’re such a wonderful friend.”

Scott grinned. “Thanks, I really needed to hear that.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Do me a favour and break the CD in Jackson’s CD player. He can’t get me kicked out if I wasn’t the one who did it.”

 

* * *

 

“What’s up?” Stiles asked as they drove. He was glad to be back in his jeep. He hadn’t really needed it since they’d been there. Mainly everything was within walking distance.

There was something comforting about the worn seats, the smell of rust and cigarettes that was left over from whoever he bought it from, and the sticker on the dash that read “If you’re going to ride my ass like that at least pull my hair.” that his dad had refused to let him put on his bumper because he didn’t understand comedy. And, of course, the fact that Scott was with him, as always.

Scott looked worse for wear today, though. He had circles under his eyes and if Stiles didn’t know better he would assume that his best friend was the one with a hangover.

“I--,” he looked out the window. “It’s about Isaac.” He said slowly and Stiles felt his heart sink a little. “He--,”

“Oh, god, did he try and kiss you?” Stiles asked, unable to wait for Scott to slowly get the words out. He felt embarrassment, second hand, well up inside him.

“What?” Scott looked genuinely shocked. “No, he didn’t. Why would you ask that?”

Stiles shrugged sheepishly. “It’s not that uncommon for drunk people to try and kiss you, you know.”

Scott flashed his first smile since they’d gotten into the jeep. “Yeah, I know.” He said, words heavy with implications.

“That didn’t happen.” Stiles said firmly, shaking his head in denial and turning on his turn signal.

Scott arched an eyebrow. “Really? Because I remember your teeth knocking into mine, and--,”

“No, you don’t, because we both promised to forget that ever happened right afterwards. Remember _that_?” Stiles asked, trying not to picture the embarrassing scene. He’d had way too much of his dad’s scotch and he was in tenth grade, hadn’t kissed anyone, and Scott seemed like the best choice at the time.

It had been extremely awkward.

“Anyways, we were talking about Isaac.” Stiles said, pulling them back to the present.

Scott’s face fell again. He pulled at the strings of his hoodie, tightening them and then loosening them again. Stiles didn’t push this time, or try to guess what was wrong. He’d get it out in his own time.

“He was really drunk.” Scott started, looking a bit guilty. “I don’t-- I’m not sure if he meant to tell me any of it. I don’t really know. And I shouldn’t even be telling you, but I know you won’t mention it, or look at him different, and I need to talk to _someone_ , I--,” Scott turned to him, eyes wide. “Did you know his dad hit him?”

Of all the possibilities running through Stiles’ mind, that had not been one of them. His grip on the steering wheel tightened as that sunk it.

It made sense, now that Scott said it. The way Isaac kind of flinched when he’d raised his voice, or the way he always hunched in on himself. He didn’t have any family pictures in his room, nothing to tie him back to whatever life he left behind.

Stiles was pissed, something protective surging up inside of him.

Scott looked just as angry as he felt, fingers bunching into fists on his thighs. “I-- I didn’t know what to say, so I just-- I asked him why he was telling me and he just rolled over and said…” Scott’s voice broke a bit on those words. “He said it’s because he trusts me, and then he fell asleep.”

Stiles pulled into the Wal-mart parking lot an stopped the car, turned it off and pulled the keys out of the ignition. He turned to his best friend, already knowing what was going through his head.

“There’s nothing you could have done, Scott. You didn’t know him then.” He said firmly. “You can’t beat yourself up over this.”

Scott blinked a couple times and then smiled at him. It was a fake smile, wobbly and unsure. “I know.” He said weakly before repeating himself with a little more conviction. “I know. I just hate that he went through that.” He undid his seatbelt and put his hand on the door handle. “Can we just go shopping now?”

Stiles nodded.

 

* * *

 

“Come on, let me have this one thing.” Stiles begged, standing outside Scott’s door.

They’d already dropped Stiles’ stuff, which included a new shelving unit for the end of his bed, in Stiles’ still empty room. Scott wanted to put off waking Isaac.

“I woke up to Nicki Minaj, Scott. I think I deserve this.” He said, trying to form his face into that pout that Scott often used against him. He didn’t have the puppy eyes going for him, though. So unfair.

Scott sighed. “Just be nice about it.” He said, unlocking his door.

Isaac was still passed out. In Scott’s bed.

“You didn’t mention that part.” Stiles said, raising an eyebrow at his best friend.

Isaac was still wearing the clothes from last night. He was all loose limbed and spread out, one leg hanging off the end of the bed, the other one hitting the wall. One arm clutched the pillow under his head, the other one laid uselessly at his side. His curls were completely matted down on the right, and his mouth was hanging open slightly. It should have been hilarious, but really, if he was being honest with himself, it was only kind of cute. In a platonic way. Isaac really didn’t do it for him _like_ _that_. Not that he wasn’t attractive.

Ugh, stop, he told his brain, and went over to the bed.

“He kind of just crashed there as soon as we got in the room.” Scott shrugged helplessly. “I couldn’t move him.”

“And where did you sleep?” Stiles asked, now waggling his eyebrows.

Scott actually blushed, just a bit. “On his bed.”

“Oh.” Stiles deflated. “That’s considerably less scandalous.” He looked back at Isaac. “I was going to jump on him but now I don’t want to.”

“Yeah,” Scott agreed, smiling fondly at the sleeping boy. “Just-- shake him gently, or something.”

Stiles nodded and put his hand on Isaac’s shoulder and gave it a push. “Isaac,” he said in a low voice, trying not to startle him.

Isaac wasn’t startled. He just blinked, pulled the blanket over himself, and rolled over while muttering, “No.”

Stiles started laughing then. He couldn’t help it. “Isaac,” he repeated, looking to Scott for help.

“It’s almost four in the afternoon.” Scott added. “Come on.”

“Uh-uh.” Isaac mumbled, trying to cover his face. “Head hurts. Want to sleep.”

“Isaac,” Stiles tugged on the blanket.

“Scott,” Isaac whined. “Make him go away.”

Scott joined in on Stiles’ laughter. “Guess we’re going to dinner without him.”

Isaac sat up. “Food?”

“Only if you get up.” Stiles coaxed.

Isaac rubbed a hand over his face and looked around him, then realized where he was. His cheeks turned scarlet. “Why am I in your bed?” He asked Scott, eyes wide.

Scott shrugged. “I slept in yours. You wouldn’t move. No big deal.”

Isaac nodded slowly. “Right.” He groaned loudly then. “I feel like shit.”

“That’s, like, a rite of passage for college, isn’t it? Come on, go shower, I need to eat.” Stiles urged, sitting on the vacant bed. “I’m starving.”

 

* * *

 

Laura was pissed at him. Rightfully, maybe, but he thought they were both in the wrong. She seemed to think it was just him.

“Why couldn’t you have tried?” She’d asked later that night when Derek had ducked out of the party. It wasn’t his scene, it wasn’t enjoyable. He had just wanted to go home.

And he’d been in a terrible mood by that point. First, for her dragging him there. Second, for the annoying kid who couldn’t have been old enough to drink who had attempted, and failed, to engage him in conversation. And lastly, for her treating him like an experiment. Like something she could move to fit into the right slots, if she just pushed hard enough.

“You’re my sister,” he’d snapped at her then. “Not my friend. Not my therapist. Not my mother.”

She’d just gaped at him with a hurt look in her eyes before she switched that off and gave him an icy stare. “Fuck you, Derek.” She’d said, in a hard tone. “You know that? Fuck you.”

And she’d whirled around to go back to the house. He went home.

She didn’t call him and he didn’t call her. It was always bad when they fought. They were so different but so alike. Both of them too stubborn to admit when they were wrong, to apologize.

The thing was, without Laura, Derek was completely alone. It was sad. She was his _sister_. He needed other people in his life. And yeah, maybe that’s what Laura had been trying to point out to him.

He just didn’t _care_. Didn’t want to fix it, even if he knew how, which he didn’t. When you pushed people away for so long, it was hard to remember how to let them in again.

Derek turned on the television. The annoying static-filled sound filled the room. He wasn’t sure what he was even watching, he just didn’t want to sit in the quiet. That was a first. He was clearly losing it.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and looked through his contacts. It was mostly empty, save for a few numbers he’d gotten from girls and kept for some weird reason. He never called them. But maybe he should.

Miranda. That was the girl from only a week ago. That wasn’t long enough that she’d of forgotten him, most likely. He hit the call button and waited.

“Hello?” A perky female asked, sounding pleasant but confused by the unfamiliar number.

“Hey,” Derek said carefully. He wasn’t used to doing this. Didn’t know the protocol. “It’s Derek, from--,”

“Broody guy with the leather jacket.” Miranda guessed, and he could almost hear her smiling. “I thought you weren’t going to call me.”

“So did I.” He admitted.

She laughed at his honesty. “Well, what can I do for you, Derek?”

 

* * *

 

Isaac looked guilty twenty minutes later when they piled into Stiles’ jeep to go to dinner, Jackson trailing along behind him. He threw Stiles an apologetic look.

“Is it okay if he comes?” he asked in a timid voice, like he was completely aware of the fact that it wasn’t.

“Of course.” Stiles said through gritted teeth, still remembering the scene from this morning involving Jackson and that horrible CD.

“So, how’s everyone’s classes?” Scott asked, trying to make conversation to include everyone.

“Mine are okay.” Isaac said noncommittally. “Hard, but manageable.”

Scott nodded. “Right? I thought it was going to be worse, but I’m not doing too bad in anything but History. I’m not even sure why I took that course, but at least Stiles is helping me.”

Stiles nodded mutely.

That’s how the rest of the ride went, all the way to the restaurant. Stiles silently fuming, Jackson also silent for his own reasons, and Scott and Isaac trying to fill the void.

“Table for four?” Asked the waiter when they walked into the restaurant.

Stiles had passed by this place a couple times, and he wanted to check it out. Scott was always up for anything, and Isaac and Jackson had been invited, so they had no part in choosing where they ate.

“Yep,” Scott said easily, rocking back on his heels and flashing the guy a charming smile. Stiles shook his head. Scott managed to flirt with everyone without even realizing he was doing it.

“Come with me,” the man said, addressing Scott only. He sat them in a booth near the back of the room. There was only one table occupied in their section, a couple who was chatting quietly with each other. “Your waitress Laura will be with you in a moment.” The man said, placing menus in front of them. “I hope you have a wonderful time at Mario’s.”

He left with a wink over his shoulder, directed at Scott.

“Seriously?” Stiles asked, giving Scott an amused look. “Are you exuding some sort of sexual pheromone or something?”

Scott blinked in surprise. “Huh?”

“Never mind,” said Stiles, opening his menu. “I’m just saying, if that many people wanted on _my_ di--,”

He cut off when Isaac made a choking sound.

Stiles looked through his menu, trying to figure out what to get. When he went through the whole thing once, he decided he liked this place. Sometimes, it took forever to order because you couldn’t find something you wanted. Other times, it was because you couldn’t chose between all the things that sounded awesome. This place was the second one.

“Hi, I’m Laura and I’ll be your server today.” Said a bright, cheerful voice. “Can I start you off with something to drink?”

Stiles looked up at her and his menu flopped closed. He recognized her immediately. The girl who had been with Derek, with the brown hair and the hazel eyes.

She tilted her head to the side and frowned at him for a moment before snapping her fingers. “The drunk kid from last night!”

Stiles bristled. “I’m not a kid.”

“Not old enough to be drinking, either, are you?” She shot back, raising one perfectly plucked eyebrow. He was about to say something in reply, like he was _almost_ old enough. In a year and a half! But she didn’t give him a chance. “I’m really sorry about my brother.” She said quickly, looking around like she might get in trouble for having a personal conversation at work. “Derek’s just--,” she waved a hand. “You know?”

Stiles shrugged, making sure his face was a mask of indifference. “Yeah.”

“Anyways,” she turned her attention to the entire table now, and both Laura and Stiles realized that everyone was looking at them with confuse expressions. “Are any of you ready to order or do you need a minute?”

“I want the steak,” Scott said quickly, passing her his menu when she held out her hand for it.

Everyone but Stiles knew what they wanted, so he just picked the first thing he looked at, not wanting to take longer then the rest of them. When she disappeared she gave him one last genuine grin, not at all the same as the one she’d given the entire table. That one was fake and plastered on and a bit too wide. The one just for him was nicer.

“What was that?” Scott asked.

“You remember that guy from Subway that I bumped into, like, a week ago? Totally hot but with the bad attitude?”

Scott scrunched up his face, trying to think. “Yeah, I think so?”

“He was at the party last night. Apparently that’s his sister.” Stiles explained, using a tone that signalled the end of the conversation.

He didn’t want to talk about Derek in front of Jackson. Didn’t want to mention how the guy had barely given him the time of day. Jackson knew exactly who Stiles was talking about and he looked too interested in it, because he was now invested in whatever happened between Stiles and Derek.

And yeah, okay, Stiles was aware of the fact that nothing was going to happen. Most likely. He didn’t know anything about the guy. Didn’t know how to find him, how to try and get to know him. It was a lost cause.

He couldn’t let Jackson know that, though. There was still a chance. A miniscule, impossible chance. But hey, Stiles was good at working out hard problems. He would find a way to get into Derek’s pants and he _would_ win this weird bet-- dare? Deal?-- _whatever_ thing with Jackson.

 

* * *

 

Halfway through dinner, Stiles came up with a plan. It wasn’t a good one, and there was a chance he wouldn’t even get past step one, unless Laura was willing to help him. And why would she? She didn’t know him. He just hoped that he could convince her.

“I’ll pay the check.” Stiles said, holding out his palm for everyone’s money. Scott and Isaac handed over bills but Jackson just sat there.

“You all still owe me.” He pointed out.

Scott, Isaac and Stiles grudgingly covered Jackson’s tab, and Stiles didn’t even point out the fact that he shouldn’t have of been there with them in the first place.

It was one of those restaurants, where you paid at a register instead of just leaving the money on the table. Stiles always wondered why people even did that in the first place. It would be so easy for someone to slip the money off one of the tables.

“Ready to pay?” Laura asked, giving him that bright smile again.

“Yep,” Stiles said, handing over the money. He sucked in a deep breath, readying himself. “I was wondering if I could ask you something. More of a favour then a question, really. And I know this is kind of really weird, since you don’t even know my name, or anything about me, but--,”

“One second,” Laura said, lifting her hand to stop him. She pulled the pen out from where it was tucked behind her ear and scribbled something on her notepad before ripping off the paper and handing it to him. “If he asks, you didn’t get it from me.” She said with a conspiratorial wink.

Stiles stared down at the numbers on the paper for a second before shoving the whole thing in his pocket. “Thanks.”

She waved her hand, dismissing him. “Don’t mention it.” And then her face turned steely. “No, seriously, don’t mention it. He’d kill me for pimping him out.”

He made an embarrassing sort of squeaking cough sound and nodded before turning around to head back to his table. Scott threw him a funny look as he got up, Isaac and Jackson following behind them.

“Wait, did you guys remember to tip?” He asked, suddenly realizing that he’d forgotten to once they’d gotten outside.

Jackson shrugged. “I left a twenty on the table.”

Stiles turned to him, an incredulous look. “You couldn’t pay for yourself but you left a twenty dollar tip?”

“Waitress was hot.” He said, as if that was an explanation.

“And you wonder why I think you’re an ass.”

“I don’t, actually.”

Stiles couldn’t help but wonder if Jackson was going to become a permanent fixture in his life. He hoped not, but it seemed almost inevitable.

Jackson wasn’t the same popular kid from high school. He didn’t go out every night to parties, like Stiles had expected. He didn’t leave Lydia and have a stream of girls flocking towards him at every waking minute. In fact, he seemed to be flying under the radar, because Stiles figured Jackson could have those things, if he wanted, but he just didn’t.

It was confusing, and he didn’t know what to think of it. He wasn’t going to ever like Jackson. That was something they both would probably mutually agreed upon, if he ever voiced it aloud. But maybe he didn’t hate him completely. Not the same way he did in high school. Then, he was just a complete asshole, all the time. Now, he was just a complete asshole to Stiles, as if his issue was just Stiles instead of just something being wrong with Jackson at his core.

Stiles didn’t like this revelation very much. Hating Jackson because he deserved it was easier. Now, he was just confused.


	4. Chapter 4

Stiles laid in his bed, tossing his phone between his hands. Jackson was out doing laundry, or so the basket of dirty clothes he’d carried out of the room implied.

He’d already called his dad, had a nice but brief conversation about how school was going before his dad let him go. He had a sneaking suspicion that he had a date with Scott’s mom, but he really didn’t want to know, so he hadn’t asked.

He stopped throwing the phone and pulled up the contact page. Derek’s name was already listed there. He’d done that as soon as he’d gotten home for the restaurant, in case he accidentally lost the number like an idiot, which was pretty likely to happen to him.

That was days ago. Almost a week, actually. He hadn’t called. This wasn’t even the first time he’d sat there, considering pressing call, but he’d backed out at the last second every time.

The issue was that Stiles had never been wanted. He was so used to the sting of rejection that he just automatically expected it. Why would this be any different? And why even bother putting himself through that?

And then he would remember that the reason he was even doing this in the first place was to win the bet with Jackson, not because he was actually _interested_ in Derek. He wasn’t.

Okay, yeah, the guy was smoking hot . Possibly the hottest guy he’d ever met. But he hadn’t shown any interest in Stiles, hadn’t implied in any way that he would be pleased that Stiles somehow procured his number and was going to call him.

He should just delete the number, actually. This was a lost cause. It wasn’t going to happen. He would just delete the number, admit to Jackson that he couldn’t do it, and never spare Derek a thought again.

And he was _going_ to do that. He was! But his thumb slipped and instead of going into the contact, he hit call.

He dropped the phone as soon as it started ringing. “Shit,” he mumbled, leaning over the bed to grab it. “Hello?” He asked, putting it against his ear. It was still ringing.

He had all of about three seconds to decide whether or not he should just hang up, or take this as a sign. Time ran out before he could decide, though.

“Who is this?” Derek’s voice croaked, sounding annoyed.

Stiles breathed for a second. “Um, hi.”

The other end of the line was silent.

“So, um, I know this is probably really weird and surprising. And you probably have no idea who I am, but--,”

“From the party.” Derek said. His voice sounded lower over the phone than it had in person. “The drunk one.”

“Glad I made a good impression.” Stiles murmured. “But yeah, that’s me. Though I’d prefer to be called Stiles over ‘the drunk one’.”

“How did you get my number, Stiles?” Derek demanded.

“Um,” he paused. He hadn’t thought to prepare a lie for this. Laura specifically said not to tell him he’d gotten the number from her.

“Laura.” Derek guessed, as if he could read Stiles’ mind. “I’m going to kill her.”

“Hey, ‘s not her fault. I kind of pushed her into it.” Stiles said, leaning against his pillows. This wasn’t going the way it was supposed to. “Is it really all that terrible that I called you?”

Silence again, but this time Stiles waited for him to break it. “I don’t know.”

“Me either,” Stiles admitted without thinking.

Derek’s answering sigh sounded exasperated, but not as annoyed as he would expect. Mostly just tired. “What did you call for, Stiles?”

Stiles bit the inside of his cheek. “I wanted to ask you out.”

Derek’s breathing answered him.

“And you’re not interested. Totally cool. I’m not really surprised, actually. Just thought I’d give it a try.” Stiles felt his cheeks burning with embarrassment, even though he wasn’t lying. He _wasn’t_ surprised. Still, knowing you’re going to be rejected and actually getting rejected is a completely different thing.

“Why?” Derek asked, breaking him away from his thoughts.

Stiles actually pulled the phone away and stared at it, like it had suddenly turned into a cheeseburger or something equally impossible because that wasn’t Derek saying no. That wasn’t a rejection. Not exactly, anyways. Not yet.

“Why does there have to be a reason?” Stiles replied, since he couldn’t exactly admit to Derek why he was interested. He didn’t think Derek would be pleased by the answer. “Why not just go with the flow and see where it takes you?” Stiles winced at his own words. “Okay, that didn’t sound nearly as stupid in my head as it did out loud.”

“I’m sure that happens to you a lot.” Derek teased.

“Ouch,” Stiles said, raising his eyebrows in amusement. That was a joke, right? A dry sort of joke, but still a joke. He didn’t think Derek had it in him. “That was totally uncalled for. I’m offended. Now you’re going to have to make it up to me by going out with me.”

Derek’s reverted back to seriousness. “I don’t date.”

“What a coincidence, neither do I!”

“Stiles.” The word was a warning.

“Just give it a chance. I’m not that annoying once you get used to me, and I’m pretty funny. Also, not too bad to look at.” Which wasn’t exactly true but wasn’t _untrue_ , either.

“I can’t.” Derek said, and then he hung up.

Stiles stared at the screen, just to make sure that the call was actually ended. It was.

He thought that if he ever did call Derek, there would be some sort of feeling of closure. Either he’d say yes, they’d go out or whatever, or he’d say no and Derek would just be a blip on the timeline of his life.

Now, he was just confused. He hadn’t said no. He said he couldn’t. Couldn’t didn’t mean he didn’t want to. In fact, if Stiles tried really hard, he could convince himself that Derek had sounded kind of like he wanted to.

He’d said he hadn’t had a girlfriend that night at the party. Either he’d been lying, that had changed, or there was another reason for his ‘I can’t’.

Stiles needed to know. Needed that closure. He hated having loose ends. Hated not knowing things.

And maybe he was back to hating Jackson again, too, because it was easier just to blame this entire thing on him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He shouldn’t have been surprised when he came home to find Laura digging through his fridge. He didn’t even make a comment about it. It’d been over a week since they’d last spoken and it was about the time where she’d usually give in, come over there and yell at him a bit more before she’d try to hug him or something and then agree that they both sucked and move on. No apologies, no admitting who was more in the wrong. That’s how they worked.

“You actually have ice cream.” She commented, pulling the carton out of his freezer. “Cotton candy flavoured.” She said, holding it out as evidence. “I thought you’d just have various body parts in your fridge. I’m pleasantly surprised.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Don’t eat any of that.”

She smirked and he waited for her to make fun of it. “I’d like to see you stop me.”

He tried to remember the moon schedule then. He could tell, just from her body stance and her grin, that she was in a mood. The kind that was more about the moon cycle then anything else.

“Three days.” He said out loud, and she nodded. “Is that why you’re here?”

“No.” She said, jumping up to sit on the counter. She pulled the ice cream scoop out of the container beside the fridge. She popped the tub on the ice cream and dug in, eating with the giant spoon. Derek groaned. “I’m here because I miss you.” She admitted, ice cream getting on her face. “And because you’re too stubborn to come out and admit that you miss me first, I’m here.”

“I know you gave him my number.” Derek said.

He hadn’t even known he was going to say it. He thought he was going to make some annoyed grunting sound, or maybe tell her to put the ice cream down.

Now that the words were out, he wanted to pull them back in. He knew she would ask if he called. Knew she would be upset with him, would barrage him with questions until he either admitted why he said no, or yelled at her and started a new fight.

“So he called?” She asked, looking delighted. “I didn’t know if he had in it him. I think he’s shy. Either that or extremely nervous. Not really sure.”

Derek nodded once. “He called.”

Laura sighed. “And you said no.”

“Yes.”

She blew air out of her mouth and put the ice cream down to melt on the counter. “I know it’s not my place. I also know that I’m your sister and therefore trying to set you up with someone, or forcing you to go out isn’t my job. I also know that you won’t do anything you don’t want to. I just want you to know that nothing bad is going to happen if you let yourself do what you want, just once.” She shook her head sadly. “I don’t know what made you so cautious, Derek, but it’s destroying you.”

Derek’s eyes flashed blue. “Maybe it’s the fact that our family is dead Laura.” He said, and the words sounded a bit distorted because of his elongated teeth. “Maybe it’s the fact that we aren’t good for people. Do you ever think about that? Do you ever think about what could happen to your friends, or those guys you go out with, or your coworkers?”

Laura blinked at him, taken aback. They never talked about it. Not together. She’d try and he’d be silent and that was that.

“They were _murdered_ Laura. It wasn’t an accident. Do you think that couldn’t happen again? That anyone we care about is ever safe?” He shook his head and laughed bitterly. “If you honestly believe that then I’m going to hate to see your face when it’s all taken away again.”

Laura nodded once, put the ice cream back in the fridge, put the spoon in the sink, and turned to him. She didn’t look angry, or sad, or anything. Her expression was painfully blank.

“You know, sometimes it’s really hard loving you, Derek.” She said quietly before brushing past him, pausing to grab her coat on the way out the door. It didn’t even slam behind her.

That was the first time she’d ever cleaned up after herself in his apartment. The fact that _that_ was what stuck in his mind said a lot about how he dealt with emotional pain.

He was still standing there, breathing heavily minutes later, trying to calm himself. His nails were extended, eyes were probably still blue, and his teeth were sharp against his tongue when he probed them.

He knew, deep down, that he was all she had left, too. That he mattered to her above all else, that she convinced herself it was her job to take care of him. It _wasn’t_ , but he still felt guilty. It ate away at him.

Greif is supposed to be the hardest. That’s what everyone says, right? That’s what he’d been taught when he was younger, going through training with his other family members. Everyone assumed anger was the most difficult, but apparently it wasn’t, because grief was like anger and sadness all rolled into one.

Derek didn’t believe that. Not at all. Guilt, he decided, was the worst emotion. Grief brought you down. Anger made you want to destroy things. But guilt? Guilt ate at you, scratched at your insides until you finally tore yourself apart, just to get away from it.

After that he couldn’t stop thinking about what he could have done to change the way their conversation went. He could have told her he was sorry for the way he was, and that he would change if he could. He could have told her about going on that date with that girl, Melinda, or Melissa, or whatever, even if it didn’t end in anything because he wasn’t feeling it. He could have of just admitted that he wasn’t ready. Might not ever be ready to try and care about people.

But he didn’t, so he just sat there and let the guilt eat away at him until he had to do something. And the only thing he could think of was to pull the phone out of his pocket and send a text message.

 

* * *

 

“So,” Stiles turned to Jackson. They were both silently studying for once. Jackson wasn’t playing music to annoy him, Stiles wasn’t talking to himself to annoy Jackson. It was nice.

“What?” Jackson asked, looking up from his textbook.

“You said I have to have sex with Derek, right?” He said, and Jackson nodded, like he thought Stiles was too stupid for words. “Does that mean, like, penetration, or do-- you know-- hand jobs, or blow jobs count, too?”

Jackson considered this for a second. “You can do whatever you want, but I’m not getting Isaac to switch rooms unless it’s full on.”

Stiles nodded and then another thought occurred to him. “How are you going to know? I mean, I could tell you right now that I totally had sex with him and you wouldn’t know the difference.”

Jackson narrowed his eyes. “I’d know.”

Stiles doubted that. “Okay, but why are you making this so difficult? Wouldn’t you rather room with Isaac?”

Jackson cocked an eyebrow. “I’d rather room with anyone else. But I’m willing to sacrifice my own happiness in order to piss you off.”

“Of course you would.” Stiles muttered, turning back to his textbook. He was about to start going over his notes when his phone buzzed in his pocket.

_Do you have a car?_

Stiles stared at the screen. The text was from Derek, whose number he still hadn’t deleted.

 _Yes?_ He sent back, confused.

The next text wasn’t an explanation. It was an address.

\--

Stiles was parked outside the apartment building. It was a nice place, not too rich looking, not too run down. It was in a good part of town, too, right by the college.

He couldn’t get out of his car yet.

His palms were sweating and his mind was racing. What did this mean? Did he even mean to send that text to Stiles? Maybe it was meant for someone else. But if it wasn’t… _what did it mean_?!

There was a part of him that figured this was a booty call. It could be. He wasn’t exactly experienced with that, so he didn’t have any way of knowing. But if it was, was that something he wanted to do?

Up until this point, he’d been ready to go with the plan of sleeping with Derek. Now that it might actually happen, though, he wasn’t sure. Didn’t he want his first experience to be with someone he cared about? Someone he actually knew? Hell, he didn’t even know Derek’s last name, for Christ’s sake.

There was another part of him that considered the fact that maybe Derek just wanted some company, had rethought Stiles’ offer and they would spend the night eating Chinese food out of cartons while watching sitcom reruns. That would be cool.

Okay, that part of him was naive.

Stiles pulled the keys from the ignition and held them tightly in his hand, the metal biting painfully into skin. It calmed his thoughts a bit, though. Brought him back down to earth.

He pushed open the car door and went up to the building. The front door swung open easily and he headed towards the stairs.

Apartment 402. That had to be the fourth floor.

He was starting to get winded by the time he was at the top of the stairs. Or maybe that was just his nerves, making him sweat and breath raggedly. Whatever, he didn’t really want to analyse that too much.

He knocked once on Derek’s door, firmly but not hard. The wood stung his knuckles and he took a step back, bunching his hands into his pockets, and waited.

The door opened and Derek blinked at him, as if he was actually surprised Stiles showed up.

“Uh, so, you sent me your address and I took that to mean that you wanted me to come over?” He supplied helplessly. Derek didn’t say anything. “Or I could, you know--,” he pointed his thumb over his shoulder. “I could go.”

He didn’t get a chance to run off in embarrassment. A hand curled into the front of his t-shirt and yanked him forward, over the threshold and past the open door. Then, the door was swinging shut behind him and he was pushed flat against it, not painfully hard but not gentle, either.

Derek’s breath was warm on his neck and Stiles was disoriented. This wasn’t what he expected. Sure, he thought they might get it on, but he figured there’d be talking first. Not just this-- jumping straight into it.

“I don’t date.” Derek said roughly, repeating his words from their phone conversation right in Stiles’ ear. “I don’t want a relationship. Right now, you’re here because I need a distraction, and you’re the best one I can find. You can chose to leave, or you can stay, and see where this goes, but do not kid yourself into believing that this is going to happen ever again.”

He pulled back then, obviously giving Stiles the opportunity to leave, like he’d promised.

Maybe he would have, if Derek had asked him like a normal person, instead of pressing him against the wall. Now, he was already half hard in his pants and unwilling to leave without seeing if that problem could be fixed by someone else for once, instead of his own hand.

“What’s your last name?” Stiles blurted, hating how breathless and small his voice sounded compared to the hard grate of Derek’s.

Derek’s eyes narrowed with suspicion or confusion, Stiles wasn’t sure. “Hale.” He answered anyways.

“Right, that seemed important.” Stiles muttered, and then this time he grabbed _Derek_ by the shirt, pulling him back in.

 


	5. Chapter 5

As far as first kisses went (the one with Scott didn‘t count, in his eyes), Stiles thought he lucked out on his.

Derek’s lips were soft when they pressed against his. His stubble tickled the area around his mouth in a way that was surprisingly pleasant. He’d never thought about that before, what it would feel like to kiss someone with facial hair. He decided he didn’t mind.

Derek had one hand leaning against the wall beside Stiles’ head, curled into a fist. The other was on Stiles’ waist, holding him firmly in place.

The first kiss blurred quickly into the second when Derek leaned back, checking if Stiles was still on board, took his expression as a definite yes, and went in for another.

This time, it wasn’t soft. His lips were harder, desperate, his tongue pushing against Stiles’ firmly closed mouth, trying to gain access. It wasn’t until the hand on his waist moved to brush along his stomach that Stiles’ granted it, mouth parting with a choked moan.

Kissing with tongue was a whole knew experience. It was kind of awkward, at first, if he was being honest. There was more tongue in his mouth than he was accustomed too, and he didn’t know what to do with his own, didn’t want to show Derek how inexperienced he was. Tentatively, he brushed his tongue against Derek’s.

The resulting groan that earned him made his stomach tighten, and his hand released the front of Derek’s shirt, where he was holding him close. Now, it moved lower, reaching under the shirt the way Derek had to him, but finding something much better then Derek probably had.

Derek was all hard, smooth muscle, and Stiles tried to picture what he’d look like without that shirt. And that’s when he decided he didn’t want to just picture it. He wanted to see. If Derek could boss him around, be dominating, so could Stiles.

“Take it off,” Stiles ordered, pulling his mouth away from Derek’s. Not far, though. His lips lingered on his jaw, his words whispering against Derek’s skin.

Derek cocked an eyebrow at him as he leaned back, reached down, and lifted the shirt up.

“Shit,” Stiles breathed, eyes flickering between Derek’s body and his eyes. He wasn’t sure which one he liked seeing more. There was something amazing about the way Derek’s pupils were blow wide and his cheeks were slightly flushed, but then there was also something breathtaking about the way his body looked unclothed. It wasn’t just his stomach that was all hard muscle. It was his chest, too, and his arms and his shoulders, and Stiles groaned.

“What?” Derek demanded when Stiles squeezed his eyes close.

“You’re giving me a serious complex right now,” Stiles admitted. “Now get back over here and kiss me or I might decide to bolt before you realize how out of my league you are.”

Derek’s hands were back on his waist, but he didn’t kiss Stiles’ again. Instead, Stiles felt himself being pulled backwards, manhandled, until they were across the apartment and Derek pushed him onto the couch so he was sitting up.

And then Derek climbed on top of him, both legs on either side of Stiles’ hips, straddling him, and Stiles couldn’t form coherent thoughts for a moment.

Derek’s lips found his again, his teeth nipping Stiles’ bottom lip before he explored Stiles’ mouth with his tongue once more. This time Stiles didn’t hesitate. His tongue sought Derek’s and even pushed into Derek’s mouth, tasting him, feeling him, and he couldn’t see how this could get any better until Derek ground his hips down and Stiles let out a surprised cry.

Stiles put his hands on Derek’s naked hips and then moved them down, over the denim of his jeans and around to grab his ass. He pulled him down against his groin again, letting his moan get lost in Derek’s mouth.

“Too much clothing,” Derek grunted, pushing Stiles’ shirt up.

Stiles didn’t want to be shirtless, not with all of Derek’s muscular glory right there to compare himself too, but the urge to have skin against skin was stronger then his self consciousness, so he lifted his arms and let Derek remove his shirt.

Derek didn’t seem to mind that Stiles wasn’t nearly as fit as he was. His hands roamed Stiles’ body, fingers grazing the skin of his ribs, his chest, his collarbone. His dick was straining painfully in his pants and he wanted more, more than just the frustrating rub of denim against denim.

His hands found the button of Derek’s jeans and he undid it, fingers fumbling slightly, until Derek reached down and unzipped them himself before working on Stiles’ jeans.

Derek kicked his own jeans off and Stiles lifted his body so Derek could pull his down. Once those were out of the way, Stiles pulled Derek back down to crush their bodies together, revelling in the feeling of Derek rubbing against his cock with nothing but the thin material of their boxers to separate them.

“Might not-- last too long if you keep that up,” Stiles panted against Derek’s shoulder.

Derek didn’t pull away, didn’t stop grinding their bodies together. “Good.”

Stiles let his head fall back against the couch as his fingers dug into Derek’s back, needing something to hold onto, to keep him grounded. Derek mouthed at his neck, lips pressing firmly, stubble rubbing painfully against the sensitive skin before he bit down on Stiles’ collarbone.

Stiles might have felt inexperienced but Derek didn’t look in any better shape then he felt. His eyes were closed and he panted loudly. The rhythm he’d been using to grind against Stiles became erratic, harder, like he’d lost control.

Stiles was urged on by that, felt bolder knowing that half of that was because of _him_. He reached his hand between their bodies and grabbed Derek through his boxers, giving him a light squeeze.

Derek was the one who moaned that time, his first of the night, and Stiles figured he’d do about anything to hear that sound again, and again. His hand moved up and pulled at the waistband of Derek’s boxers before he slid his hand in.

Derek was warm in his hand, hard and a bit thicker then his own. The angle was awkward, and Stiles struggled to get a good rhythm going, moving his fisted hand quickly up and own Derek’s dick.

He didn’t moan Stiles name when he came. Stiles didn’t expect him to. But the abandoned moan he let out was better than that would have been anyways, Stiles decided, feeling the sound reverberate through his body as Derek slumped against him.

Stiles pulled his now sticky hand out of Derek’s boxers, wondering if Derek would be pissed if he wiped it on Derek‘s boxers. He didn’t get a chance to ask, though, because Derek pushed up a bit and slid his hand from Stiles’ chest to his stomach, nails scratching at the skin under the trail of hair below his bellybutton before he hooked a finger under the waistband of Stiles’ boxers.

Stiles looked down to see what he was doing but then scrunched his eyes closed when Derek’s hand wrapped around him.

Derek’s fingers were longer than his own, and wider. His pace was slower than one Stiles would use on himself, but it was better than anything he’d ever felt. Derek’s thumb brushed over the tip and Stiles bit down on his lip, hard.

It wasn’t romantic. There was no trying to last, no drawing it out, or trying make it the best experience ever. Derek was working him fast and rough, trying to get him off as quickly as possible.

It didn’t take long, either, before Stiles felt the release building in him, and then his body seized up, just a bit, before loosening, going limp under Derek’s weight as he came in his boxers and over Derek’s hand.

Derek was off him seconds later, crossing the apartment in nothing but a tight pair of black boxers. Stiles watched him go, unsure of what to do and kind of ogling the display because, as awkward as he suddenly felt now that they were no longer touching, Derek was still impossibly gorgeous to look at.

Derek returned a beat later and tossed a towel to Stiles, who grabbed it and cleaned off his hand. Then he stood up, pulling on his pants, found his discarded t-shirt, and looked at Derek, who was just standing there still almost naked with his arms crossed tightly over his chest.

“So…” Stiles started, and Derek gave him a quelling look.

“You should go.” Derek said in a way that made Stiles feel like any arguing he did against that would just sound childish.

“Right,” he nodded and turned on his heels, heading towards the door. He had his hand on the knob when he turned back to Derek, who was watching him, looking like he was wondering what was taking Stiles so long. “Thanks.” He said feebly before rubbing a hand through his short bristles and disappearing out the door.

He paused as soon as he was in the hallway, leaning up against the wall beside Derek’s door for support. His breathing had picked up again and he felt too hot in his clothes, felt like his bones were too big in his body, stretching him. And he felt hollow.

That should have meant something, he realized, closing his eyes. But it didn’t. And he didn’t regret it, really. That wasn’t the problem here. He was totally pleased with the way things went. Wouldn’t change them if he could.

But a tiny part of him pushed, knew that it would have been better, so much better, if it had meant something.

 

\--

 

The first thing he did when he got back to the dorms was grab a towel, a change of clothes, and his bag of shower stuff -- a bottle of shampoo, razor, shaving cream, body wash, the works-- and headed straight to the bathrooms.

He hated the communal bathrooms. They grossed him out. Not that he was easily grossed out. Hell, if someone looked at his bedroom back home in between cleaning days, they’d probably be disgusted. But there was something about knowing that at least twenty other guys had been in the same shower you are now standing in, in the last week, that was really gross.

Whatever, that couldn’t be helped. He didn’t have his own apartment. Not like some people. Like _Derek_ , apparently.

The shower didn’t take long enough and the water never really got hot enough for his liking, but again, that couldn’t be helped so he just towelled off, got dressed and headed back to his room.

Jackson still wasn’t back and he was grateful for that. He didn’t want to talk to him. Maybe he could go over to Scott’s, tell Scott that he’d just lost some part of his virginity, because he had, right? That counted.

Why that hadn’t fully sunk in until this point, he wasn’t sure.

Stiles had always figured he’d be ecstatic when he lost it. Thought he’d make t-shirts and buttons telling the world of his sexual conquests, but now he just wanted to crawl into bed and take a nap, to let the thoughts of the day slip away.

Again, he still wasn’t upset about the fact that it happened. He just wasn’t as happy about it as he knew he should have been. And, also again, he figured he knew _why_.

Derek.

Derek, who didn’t care about him. Who didn’t even know his last name. Who had been looking for nothing but an easy hook up, and that’s exactly what Stiles had been.

 

\--

 

“Allison’s coming down this weekend.” Scott announced the next day. Stiles was sitting in Scott and Isaac’s room, eating a microwaved pizza pocket while surfing the internet aimlessly.

He nearly choked on his food as he lifted his head up, pizza pocket hanging out of his mouth. He grabbed it in his hands and raised his eyebrows. “Did you think about where she’s going to stay, dude?”

Scott blinked and shook his head. “Shit, I think she just assumes she’s staying in my room. Not that I have an issue with that, but--,”

Isaac wasn’t in the room at the moment. He was off somewhere, Stiles wasn’t sure where. He’d been gone when Stiles got there. “Is she bringing Lydia with her?”

Scott nodded. “Yeah, she said Lydia’s coming to see Jackson.”

Stiles thought for a moment. “Okay, Jackson is not having sex with his girlfriend, who I’m still kind of in love with, in our room while I’m there. And you can’t have Allison over with Isaac here.” Scott nodded his acknowledgment of these two things. “So I’ll convince Jackson that it’s in his best interests to get a hotel room for them. Lydia will be totally onboard with that. She won’t want to have to share a small dorm room bed. Then Isaac can room with me for the weekend, and you can have your room to yourself.”

Scott’s eyes widened. “That’s actually a brilliant plan.” He said, looking a bit surprised.

“I’m offended by how shocked you are at that.” Stiles said, trying to make an angry face at his best friend but failing.

Scott grinned back for a second before the expression changed to one of deep thought. He bunched up his blanket and smoothed it out, only to bunch it up again. “Do you think Isaac’ll be upset?”

Stiles was taken aback. He was pretty sure his best friend was oblivious to Isaac’s crush on him, and he knew Isaac hadn’t said anything. He figured the other boy was too afraid of ruining their friendship over a crush that would never work out anyways to say anything.

And then Stiles felt bad for thinking that, because he wanted things to work out for Isaac. He really, genuinely did. The guy was really growing on him, alright?

“About being kicked out of his room for the weekend?” Scott continued.

“Oh,” Stiles said suddenly. So Scott _wasn’t_ implying that Isaac would be incredibly jealous at the arrival of Scott’s girlfriend. “I don’t know, I’m sure Isaac will be fine with it. It’s only two days.”

“What’s only two days?” Isaac asked, coming into the room.

“You possibly staying in my room while Allison visits for the weekend?” Stiles put in helpfully, since Scott didn’t answer.

“Allison’s staying here.” Isaac stated, expression unreadable.

“Just for the weekend.” Scott said hastily, and Stiles wondered if he was imagining the hopelessly guilty look on his best friend’s face. “If you’re okay with it.”

Isaac nodded. “Whatever. That’s cool.”

“Okay.” Scott said softly.

It was silent in the room after that, and no one was looking at each other. “I got a hand job from Derek Hale!” Stiles blurted. He never did deal well with uncomfortable silences.

Isaac, still not completely used to Stiles yet, was clearly at a loss for words. Scott, on the other hand, dealt with it better.

“At least you got his last name first,” Scott said.

Stiles shrugged, lifting his hands in defence. “It seemed important.”

And then Scott and Stiles were both laying on Scott’s bed, laughing so hard tears welled in Stiles’ eyes. Isaac cracked a smile at that and things felt better again.

“So, uh, was it--,”

“Don’t ask if it was good.” Stiles said hastily. He couldn’t help but add, “But it totally was. Like, awesome.”

Scott smiled and bumped his shoulder in Stiles’. “You seeing him again?”

Stiles’ happiness levels shut down at that. Derek had specifically said before they started that it was not happening again. Why was he just remembering that now?

“I don’t know.” Stiles lied.

And then another thought sunk in. There was no way he was going to win the bet with Jackson now. Derek wasn’t going to ever see him again, probably wouldn’t talk to him again, since that’s how he made it seem.

Scott seemed to pick up on Stiles’ unsaid words and nodded. “Whatever, right? His loss. I’m sure you’re, like, really good--,”

“Just stop.” Stiles covered his face with his hands. “Please, do not continue that sentence.”

Scott agreed, nodding his head slowly.

 

\--

 

Turns out, it was nearly effortless to convince Jackson that he and Lydia would be better off in a hotel room. A CD case may or may not have been thrown during the discussion, but that was besides the point, really. It hit Jackson right in the crotch though, for future reference.

The rest of the week passed by uneventfully. Stiles may have checked his phone more often than usual, just in case anyone important (Derek) tried to text him. No one (Derek) did. He wasn’t sure if he was upset about that or not.

Okay, he was totally sure he was upset about it, he just wasn’t sure if he was going figure out what that meant. He really didn’t want to know.

Scott decided to wait until Friday, about an hour before Allison showed up, to freak out.

“My room isn’t girl friendly.” He said, looking around the space with wide, out of focus eyes.

Stiles calmly raised an eyebrow at him. “What, exactly, makes a room girl friendly?”

“It’s all dude stuff in here, dude!” Scott said, running a hand through his hair, ruining the way he’d spiked it at the front only an hour ago. Stiles didn’t mention it. “Shit,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I don’t need to give her _another_ reason to be pissed at me.”

Stiles did comment on that one. “What do you mean?”

Scott sighed and flopped down onto his bed. “I don’t know.” He admitted. “It’s just- things are harder then they’re supposed to be, you know? It’s not just the long distance. I don’t care about that. It’s just-  _us_. We don’t- we don’t fit together the same as we used to. At least, that’s how it feels. We’re always fighting. I just hope this visit changes things, or at least makes them bearable until Christmas break, and then I can fix things then.”

Stiles nodded slowly and then hesitated, knowing what he said next might set Scott off. “Do you- and please keep in mind that I am not trying in any way to interfere with your relationship, it’s a simple question-, actually want to fix them?”

“Of course I do.” Scott said automatically. “Right? I love Allison. Why wouldn’t-- _of course_ , dude.”

Stiles held back the words, “Who are you trying to convince, buddy?” and just bit his tongue.

“I just want things to be like they were before.” Scott said in a hard voice. “Everything’s complicated now.”

And that, Stiles agreed, summed up everything at the moment.

 

\--

 

“Can I ask you something?” Stiles questioned, rolling onto his back to stare up at the dark ceiling.

He’d went to be early, leaving Isaac to do whatever he wanted, which was apparently the same as Stiles since they were both laying in their respective beds, trying to sleep.

He hadn’t talked to Allison yet, hadn’t even seen her. It was like she’d arrived and Scott had whisked her into his room, locked the door, and wasn’t letting her leave. That actually wasn’t that far off from the truth, probably.

“We’re not twelve year old girls, Stiles.” Isaac grumbled from Jackson’s bed. Obviously he couldn’t sleep either, despite the fact that the clock said it was two in the morning. “I’m not talking about boys with you.”

“Ha!” Stiles exclaimed. “I knew it. So you do like guys.”

He could hear Isaac moving around in Jackson’s bed. “Both.” He corrected. “I like both. Or -- I don’t know. It’s not really a gender thing. It’s a people thing.”

Stiles nodded. He could understand that. “So--,”

“If this is about Scott--,”

“Why would this be about Scott?” Stiles asked slyly. He could hear Isaac swallowing loudly but he took pity on him. “No, it’s about Derek.”

“And?”

“And I just-- we haven’t talked. Since.” He didn’t need to explain since what.

“And you expect me to be some sort of expert on this?” Isaac asked, voice thick and slow.

“No. I just thought maybe you’d be a bit better off then I am.” Stiles admitted.

“I really don’t think so.”

Stiles rolled back onto his side, facing the wall. He needed to try to sleep again. And maybe, in the morning, he’d send a text to Derek. It didn’t need to be about their feelings or anything like that. Maybe he’d just attempt another hook up, and then see where it went after that.

Stiles was nearly asleep when someone knocked at his door. He sat up and noticed Isaac do the same thing. Isaac looked at him for an explanation and he just shrugged and threw the covers off himself.

He kind of expected Jackson, or someone who was looking for a friend and knocked on the wrong door. What he didn’t expect was Scott, standing there in nothing but a pair of boxers and a tired, upset look on his face.

“You’re half naked.” Stiles felt compelled to point out.

Scott shot him a dirty look and pushed into the room. “Thanks, Stiles, I didn’t notice the fact that I’m only in my boxers because I was sleeping in bed with my _girlfriend_ who just kicked me out of my own freaking _room_!”

“I’m way too tired for you to be this angry.” Stiles stated, slipping back into bed.

Scott sighed. “Sorry,” he apologized. “I can’t go back there tonight. Can I crash in your room?”

Stiles didn’t ask what happened. He just wanted to sleep. “I’m not sharing my bed. Ask Isaac.”

Jackson’s bed creaked and Stiles figured it was the sound of Isaac moving over. That was confirmed moments later when the bed creaked again and Scott sighed from that general direction.

Stiles fell asleep listening to the both of them snore softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for my failed attempts at smut. And to be warned, that's not the last one I make during this fic. So I apologize in advanced for those in the future, too. :P


	6. Chapter 6

Stiles was still exhausted when he woke up, _again_ , to someone knocking on his door. This time, at least, it was daytime, judging by the light filtering in through the window.   
  
Stiles groaned and sat up, almost forgetting that Scott was there, in Jackson’s bed. With Isaac.   
  
And they were _cuddling_. There was really no other word for it.   
  
The blanket had been discarded at some point in the night and it now lay in the space between Stiles’ and Jackson’s beds. Isaac was close to the wall, Scott by the edge, but they were a tangle of limbs. Scott’s arm was under Isaac’s head, Isaac’s arm was around Scott’s waist, and Scott had one leg between Isaac’s.   
  
Stiles stared at them for a moment, surprised, until whoever was at the door knocked again. “Scott,” Allison said softly. “I know you’re in there. I’m sorry, okay? I brought breakfast!”  
  
Stiles stared at the door, then at the other two boys occupying his room. He couldn’t open the door with them like that. He wasn’t sure why, exactly. Just that he couldn’t.   
  
“Scott,” Stiles pushed his shoulder, hard. “Dude, wake up.”  
  
Scott groaned and his hand fisted in Isaac’s shirt. Isaac’s arm around Scott’s waist tightened and Stiles resisted the urge to punch them both. He didn’t remember locking his door last night, which meant Allison could walk in any minute and see her boyfriend cuddling with someone else. Which really, he was sure it was a complete and total accident. That didn’t make it _look_ any less incriminating.   
  
“Dude, your girlfriend is outside the door,” Stiles tried, and Scott actually blinked at that.  
  
“Wha--,” Scott looked around, noticed himself tangled with Isaac’s body, and promptly rolled off the bed. “Shit,” he moaned, rubbing his head. “Shit, shit, shit.”  
  
“Allison,” Stiles called. “You can come in.”  
  
She did, sparing a single, fond and exasperated look for her boyfriend, before launching herself into Stiles’ arms. He caught her, almost teetering off balance for a second. “I missed you!” She exclaimed, squeezing him tightly. He noticed there was a paper bag crunching between them and pulled back.  
  
“Missed you, too.” He said honestly. It was nice to see her again. She looked good, too. Her hair was shorter then he was used to, just falling past her chin, but the look worked.   
  
She grinned at him before turning to Scott, who was still on the ground, and she bit her lip. “Oh, god, did you really sleep on the floor?” She asked, taking in the blanket beneath him. “I’m so sorry.”  
  
Scott rubbed his head, still looking a bit disoriented. “No, I slept with Isaac.” He admitted. “I fell off the bed.”  
  
Allison smiled, but even Stiles noticed the way her mouth tightened at the corners. “Oh, that’s nice of him to share the bed.” She said, though it looked like she didn’t think so. In fact, Stiles was positive she would have rather had him sleep on the floor.  
  
Isaac was still asleep, thankfully, and completely oblivious to this conversation.   
  
“Like I said, I brought breakfast.” She thrust the bag at Scott. “And I really am sorry.” This time her smile looked genuine. “I-- I don’t--,” she looked to Stiles then back to her boyfriend. “We’ll talk about it later.”  
  
Scott pulled food out of the bag. There was three breakfast sandwiches. None for Isaac, apparently.   
  
He wasn’t all that surprised. Allison seemed a bit more perceptive to Isaac’s feelings then her boyfriend. How she had any idea was a mystery, though.  
  
“So, how’ve you been, Stiles?” Allison asked, perching on Stiles’ bed to eat.   
  
Scott handed them each a sandwich and Stiles unwrapped his, biting into it before talking. It was good. Warm and cheesy and meaty and perfect. So what if it was really bad for him.  
  
“I’m good.” He said slowly. “Classes are fine. Roommate sucks.”  
  
Allison gave him a sympathetic look. “Lydia told me about Jackson. What are the chances?”  
  
“That’s what I said!” Scott jumped in. “But I laughed about it.”  
  
Stiles made a face at him. “So, what are your plans this weekend?”  
  
Allison smiled brightly at Scott. “I don’t know. They’re a surprise, I guess.”  
  
Scott, who had just taken a bite of his sandwich, swallowed thickly. “Yeah,” Scott agreed, face turning red. “A surprise.”  
  
Stiles hoped for Scott’s sake that Allison didn’t pick up on the fact that that meant Scott had nothing planned. At all.   
  
Allison stood up and offered Scott her hand. “Well, you need to change and shower, so we’ll see you later, Stiles.” She said, pulling her boyfriend to his feet. “Call me more, okay? I meant it. I miss you.”  
  
Stiles nodded, feeling guilty. He hadn’t spoken to her once since they’d all left Beacon Hills. “And you can tell me all about Derek.”  
  
Stiles shot Scott a dirty look. “Don’t count on it.”  
  
Allison’s laughter trailed after her as she and Scott left the room.   
  
The second the door closed behind her, Isaac turned over. Apparently he _hadn’t_ been asleep the whole time. Awkward.  
  
“She’s really nice, isn’t she?” He asked, looking hopelessly at Stiles.   
  
“Yeah,” Stiles admitted.  
  
“I wish she wasn’t.” Isaac said quietly, laying on his back to look up at the ceiling.   
  
“I know.” Stiles said, wondering how he’d gotten himself into the middle of a love triangle that wasn’t even his own. “Want half my sandwich?” He offered.  
  
Isaac sat up and took it. “Definitely.”

  
  
\--

  
  
Stiles had been abandoned by everyone that day. Jackson was gone with Lydia, which wasn’t actually a bad thing. Scott was off somewhere, trying to pretend he had a great evening planned, with Allison. Isaac had disappeared early in the day, probably to avoid another scene like this morning. And Stiles? He was alone.  
  
And bored. And irritated. And angry, actually, now that he thought about it. Really angry.  
  
There wasn’t much he could do by himself. He could go for a drive, but that would only mean being lonely, irritated, and angry while wasting gas, so he didn’t bother. He could go to lunch, or something, but again, that didn’t strike him as a good idea.  
  
He needed other friends, he realized. Not that Scott wasn’t enough, but when Allison was around Scott wasn’t his best friend anymore. He was Allison’s boyfriend first, and everything else came second.   
  
Then it hit him. Derek’s words from that night replayed in his mind. “I needed a distraction.”  
  
Well, Stiles needed a distraction. Sure, Derek had said not to fool himself into thinking it would happen again, but maybe he could return the favour.   
  
Okay, it was a long shot, really, but Stiles was willing to try anything by this point, so he pulled his phone out of his pocket an dialled Derek’s number.  
  
“What do you want?” Derek asked immediately. No, “Hello?” or even, “Who is this?”  
  
Stiles figured he knew exactly who it was by the phone number, and he obviously wasn’t happy about it. “Hey to you too.” Stiles said sarcastically, rolling his eyes even though Derek couldn’t see him.   
  
“What do you want?” Derek repeated.  
  
“Maybe you’re not the only one who needs distractions sometimes.” Stiles told him, feeling his irritation grow stronger.   
  
“What do you want me to do about it?”   
  
“You’re really an asshole, you know that?” Stiles said, clutching the phone tighter. Derek didn’t answer so he barrelled on ahead. “What are you doing right now?”  
  
Derek took a moment to answer. “Nothing.” He didn’t sound happy too admit to it, and Stiles wondered why he didn’t just freaking lie about it, then.  
  
“Good,” Stiles said anyway. He knew Derek didn’t want to see him. It was obvious in his tone. Stiles didn’t care. “I’ll be in front of your place in twenty minutes.” He said, and then hung up.   
  
Either Derek would be waiting outside or he wouldn’t. If he wasn’t, Stiles wouldn’t care, he told himself. He would just drive on and on and on and maybe never stop. Okay, he was being melodramatic.

  
  
\--

  
  
He wasn’t wearing the leather jacket today. That was the first thing Stiles noticed when he pulled up in front of Derek’s building.  
  
Instead, he was wearing a grey Henley that did really unfair things to his arms and shoulders, and waist. In fact, the entire thing was just unfair, actually. People should not be allowed to look that perfect while just casually standing around.   
  
The second thing he noticed was that Derek was actually there. Yes, that doesn’t make sense, but whatever. His mind didn’t really catch up with what he was actually seeing at first.  
  
He was actually waiting for Stiles. He didn’t look too happy about it, either. He was scowling at Stiles through the jeep window the second he pulled onto the street and his arms were crossed a little too tightly.  
  
Still, when Stiles pulled up right in front of him without shutting off the car, he got in.  
  
“You actually waited outside for me.” Stiles said as soon as Derek got his seatbelt on.   
  
“I had nothing better to do.” Derek murmured, staring out the window instead of looking at Stiles.  
  
“You always say the nicest things to me, Derek.” Stiles cooed, rolling his eyes.   
  
“I can still get out of this car.” Derek pointed out.  
  
Stiles hastily put the car in drive and pulled away from the building. “So,” Stiles started as he drove. “How’ve you been?” He asked awkwardly. He couldn’t think of anything else to say.  
  
Derek gave him a silencing look.  
  
“Right, no small talk. Totally fine.”   
  
“Where are we going, Stiles?” Derek asked after a few minutes.  
  
“I’m not telling you.” Stiles said firmly while turning a corner.  
  
“Stiles.” The way Derek said his name, angry and with too much weight for someone who barely knew him, made him shiver, with fear or something else, he wasn’t sure.  
  
“Fine, we’re going to a movie.” He admitted, pulling onto the main road.  
  
“A movie.” Derek repeated, like it was the stupidest idea ever. “I told you I wasn’t going out with you.”  
  
“Yeah, well, I said I needed a distraction, and here you are.” Stiles shot at him, anger bubbling inside him. “If I’m good enough to hook up with again then I’m good enough to go watch a freaking movie with, okay?”  
  
Derek rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”  
  
“And if it’s not a date then I’m not paying for you.” Stiles added. It was a small victory.  
  
Derek snorted loudly but didn’t talk again until Stiles parked his car a bit down from the theatre. Derek got out of the car first, Stiles scrambling out after him.   
  
Derek didn’t walk with him. Instead, he made sure to stay at least one foot ahead of Stiles at all times. Stiles wondered if this was because he was ashamed to be seen with him, or if it was his own version of pay back for getting dragged into this.  
  
Really, Stiles didn’t mind. It gave him the opportunity to stare at his ass without getting yelled at.  
  
“What are we seeing?” Derek asked once they were inside the cool space of the theatre.  
  
Stiles shrugged. He hadn’t thought that far ahead. “Um, Looper? It looks really good, and it’s got Joseph Gordon-Levitt in it, and he’s totally awesome, and--,”  
  
Derek walked away from him and up to the teller. “Two for Looper.” He said to the lady behind the register.  
  
The woman smiled widely at Derek, leaning forward on her elbows. “’s nice of you to take your little brother to a movie.” She commented, completely ignoring Stiles.  
  
Stiles narrowed his eyes at her but Derek just handed over the money, grabbed the tickets, and then put his hand possessively on Stiles’ waist as they walked away. Stiles thought the teller’s eyes were going to pop out of her head.  
  
Once they were out of her line of sight Derek’s arm was gone from around him. Stiles wanted the warmth back, but couldn’t ask for it, since he knew Derek wouldn’t do it, and because he had too much pride.  
  
“What the hell was that for?” Stiles asked, frowning at him.  
  
“You shouldn’t let people treat you like you're inferior.” Derek grunted as they got in line behind a mother and two young kids, waiting to get popcorn and drinks.   
  
“First of all, she didn’t make me feel inferior.” Stiles lied. She had, just a bit. He didn’t look like Derek’s brother, and Derek wasn‘t really that much older than him. Probably. “Second, it’s not like you actually give a shit.”  
  
Stiles realized right then that he was completely ruining any chance of seeing Derek again after this. They’d done nothing but argue the whole time they’d been together.   
  
“You’re right. I really don’t.” Derek agreed.  
  
Stiles decided he didn’t care if Derek never went out with him again.  
  
Since Derek paid for the tickets, Stiles paid for the popcorn and drinks. Derek, it turns out, was a Skittles person. Go figure.  
  
In the darkened theatre, Stiles tried to lead Derek to the middle of the second last row. He’d learned a long time ago that those seats got the best view. You weren’t too low down, but you also weren’t crammed in beside ten other people who wanted the back row.  
  
Derek had other plans, apparently, since he steered Stiles to the other side of the theatre, up the two corner seats. Anyone who tried to sit near them got a look from Derek and they moved farther away.  
  
“Why are we sitting here?” Stiles demanded. “The angle’s all off. The middle is the better choice, obviously--,”  
  
Stiles almost spilt the bucket of popcorn everywhere when Derek’s fingers dug into the top of his thigh. “O-okay.” Stiles said, staring at the screen. “I now see the advantage of these seats.”  
  
“I’m not having sex with you in the theatre, Stiles.” Derek told him. Stiles figured if he had been looking at Derek, he would have seen the other man roll his eyes.  
  
“You were the one implying things with the hand on my thigh.” Stiles pointed out.  
  
Stiles angrily shoved a handful of popcorn in his mouth as the previews started to play.   
  
Scott hated the previews. He always insisted that they arrive right before the movie starts, that way by the time they’ve got their popcorn they only have to sit through a few minutes of them.   
  
Stiles secretly loved the previews, and now that Scott wasn’t there he expressed that, pointing out every movie that he decided he wanted to see, and every one that looked really stupid.  
  
“Don’t tell me that movie doesn’t look awesome.” Stiles said when a clip for an upcoming Pixar movie played.  
  
“I don’t watch cartoons.” Derek answered, tugging the tub of popcorn out of Stiles’ hands. He had a sinking suspicion they would run out before the movie even got started.  
  
“Oh my god.” Stiles said, turning to him with a horrified expression. “You’re like one of those deprived children who never watched The Lion King.”  
  
“I’ve never watched The Lion King.”  
  
“You must have had a horrible childhood.” Stiles told him, shaking his head.  
  
Derek’s eyes narrowed and Stiles could have sworn for a second that they had flashed blue, but the colour was gone so fast that Stiles figured it must have just been the lights from the screen. That was too weird.  
  
“No, I didn’t.” Derek said angrily, and Stiles realized he’d struck a nerve.  
  
“Sorry,” he said instinctively. “I didn’t mean to, you know, sound like an ass. Just-- seriously, what kid hasn’t seen The Lion King?”  
  
Derek was quiet from then on.

  
  
\--

  
  
“That movie was awesome.” Stiles commented as they stumbled out of the theatre.  
  
One thing Stiles hated about going to movies during the day was leaving the theatre afterwards. It was so bright outside. It was hard to remember that when you were in a darkened room for hours. It always felt like it should be night when you left  a theatre.  
  
“It was okay.” Derek grunted, but Stiles noted the way his lips tilted up a bit, like he was trying not to smile.   
  
“So you don’t completely regret the decision to go out with me?” Stiles pushed, bumping his shoulder into Derek’s as they walked back to the jeep.  
  
“I didn’t say that.”  
  
“No, but it was implied when you didn’t yell at me, or make a rude comment. I think you had fun.” Stiles said boldly, grinning with abandon at Derek, his bad mood from earlier completely forgotten. “And we should totally do it again.”  
  
When they got to the jeep Derek paused with his hand on the door handle. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”  
  
Stiles waited until they were both settled inside to reply to that. “Why the hell not?” He demanded.  
  
Derek shrugged. “I’m not good with people.” He said hesitantly.  
  
Stiles snorted. “What? Really? I totally couldn’t tell.” He rolled his eyes. “Does it look like I really care?”  
  
“I don’t _want_ to.” Derek said roughly.  
  
Stiles felt his heart sink. He honestly thought that maybe he’d made some sort of progress with Derek. Apparently not. He wasn’t going to push it this time, either. If he wasn’t wanted, he wasn’t wanted. That was _fine_. Totally fine.  
  
“Fine.” He said aloud, putting his foot only a bit too hard on the gas pedal.  
  
He didn’t try to keep up the conversation on the way back, and Derek obviously wasn’t going to. It was almost pathetic how quickly his mood went from happy back to upset in the span of a few minutes, and how much that had to do with Derek.  
  
When he pulled up in front of Derek’s building, he didn’t say anything. No goodbye, or see you later, or I’ll call you.  
  
“Do you want to--,” Derek started, but Stiles cut him off.  
  
“No.”  
  
Derek nodded, accepting that, and got out of the car. Stiles drove off, vowing to delete his number when he got home.

  
  


* * *

 

  
  
“Where were you?” Laura asked when Derek walked in the door.  
  
Derek sighed. “Not now, Laura, okay? And I want my key back. I’m getting really sick of coming home to find you lounging in my apartment.”  
  
“No, you’re not.” She teased, acting as if they hadn’t been fighting last time they’d spoken. She paused and tilted her head. “You smell like--,” she grinned. “You were out with that guy, weren’t you?”  
  
Derek huffed and walked past her. “So?”  
  
“I think you like him.” Laura decided, because Laura could sometimes be an idiot.  
  
“I really don’t.” Derek said honestly.  
  
Stiles was annoying. Too pushy, always needing to fill the silence, just like Laura. Except he didn’t know when to stop himself, didn’t know where to draw the line. Derek didn’t think he’d ever met someone with such  a miniscule amount of self-preservation instincts in his life.   
  
But then the memory of Stiles body beneath him came flashing back, and the sounds he’d made when Derek touched him. And then there was how open he was about his emotions, laughing when he felt like it, getting angry when he wanted. It shouldn’t have been endearing, and yet--,  
  
“I can tell you’re lying.” Laura pointed out, grinning.   
  
“Is there any particular reason why you’re here?” He asked her.  
  
“Actually, yes,” admitted Laura, her expression turning serious. “It’s about-- I got a call today.” She said quietly, looking down at the floor. “Someone wants to buy the house.”  
  
The words didn’t make sense for a moment. What house? They both lived in apartments.  
  
And then it sunk in and his eyes flashed angrily. “No.”  
  
“Yeah,” Laura agreed. “That’s how I feel, too. Just wanted to ask you before I turned down the offer which, by the way, was pretty incredible.”  
  
Derek growled. “I don’t care how much they offer.”  
  
“And you think I do?” She shot back.  
  
“You considered it.”  
  
Laura sighed. “You’re right, I did. Not because I want the money, Derek. Because I don’t see why we’re holding on to that place. Neither of us have ever been back there. It’s just rotting away.”  
  
“So?”  
  
“So, someone might buy the property and tear down the house, or they might restore it to the way it went before.” Laura said before shaking her head. “I don’t know, okay? I don’t know all the time, Derek. Sometimes I’m lost and I’m just doing the best I can.”  
  
“We’re not selling the house.”  
  
“Okay.” Laura nodded. “Yeah, alright.”  
  
When she left he wasn’t sure if he felt betrayed by her, or guilty again. Maybe a little bit of both.  
  
Either way, whatever slightly elated mood he’d been in after the movie with Stiles was completely gone as he sunk onto his couch and let her words repeat themselves in his mind.  
  



	7. Chapter 7

Laura was sick of sitting idly while her brother refused to have anything that made him happy. She was sick of _telling_ him what to do. Now, she’d have to take matters into her own hands.

Sure, she shouldn’t interfere with Derek’s life. If he had wanted her to, he would have let her. But he didn’t.

Whatever. Like she ever listened to him before. She wasn’t going to start now. Besides, she was the oldest. That made her in charge. Technically.

It had been painfully easy to steal Derek’s phone from him. Honestly, he was so stuck in his head that he barely noticed what was right in front of him.

What had his name been? Something weird, wasn’t it? Started with an ‘s’.

She flicked through the contacts. She knew Derek would be home in less than an hour so she had to work fast.

It didn’t take long. She only needed to send three short texts to Stiles and he’d answered all of them immediately, except the last one. He hadn’t responded to the last one at all, the one telling him to come to Derek’s in an hour. Of course, he was under the impression that it was Derek texting him.

After that, she left the apartment, leaving Derek’s phone on the counter, and headed out to pick up what she needed for the rest of the plan.

The first text she sent was asking Stiles what his top three favourite movies ever were. They were common titles, easy enough to find at the rental store.

Next, she went to the pizza place and picked up a large, all dressed pizza, and one Hawaiian. She knew Derek had drinks and snacks at home.

What she hadn’t planned on was Derek being home before she could slip back out the door.

“What’re you doing?” He asked Laura as she unlocked his door.

Laura bit her lip. “You’re going to be mad.”

“Tell me.”

She sucked in a breath. “Okay, I invited Stiles over. Alright? Well, he thinks you invited him over.”

Derek ran a hand over his face. “Great.” He muttered, looking at the stuff in her hands. “So, what, you’ve planned this perfect evening for us, and you weren’t even going to warn me?”

Laura smiled sheepishly. She hated when he was mad at her which, sadly, was more often then not. She was meddlesome. She couldn’t help it. It was a character flaw.

She didn’t even really mind this time, that he was pissed. That smile one his face the other night when he’d gotten home smelling a hell of a lot like popcorn and someone else, Stiles, made up for his anger now. If Derek couldn’t accept the fact that he liked this guy, and that maybe he should attempt to make something of it, well, she would push him in the right direction.

“When is he getting here?” Derek asked in a resigned voice.

“Half an hour.”

Derek nodded. “Give me the spare key.” Derek ordered, holding out his hand.

Laura gaped at him. “No way.”

“Laura.”

She narrowed her eyes at him but dug the key out of her pocket and handed it over. She figured she’d be able to break in using her claws anyway, or even one of the windows, if she was desperate.

The thing was, she really, honestly just wanted him to be happy. That’s all that mattered. If he ended up hating her for it, as long as he had something good in his life, it was worth it. She was willing to sacrifice that. Because as much as he loved her, Derek wasn’t happy. He didn’t have anything to light up his life and she knew that she couldn’t do it for him.

“Just-- try to have fun, okay?” She suggested, leaning forward on impulse to press a kiss to his cheek as she hugged him.

When was the last time she’d hugged him? Years ago. She couldn’t even remember. He didn’t welcome contact. It hurt her to think of that, so she pushed the thoughts from her mind.

“Later!” She called over her shoulder, leaving the apartment that still didn’t look like a home even after Derek lived there for nearly four years.

 

* * *

 

Something was up. Stiles knew it the second the first text message came in. He’d stared at the screen for a few moments before sending an answering text. Why Derek wanted to know his favourite movies, he wasn’t sure. If it was even Derek.

When the second text came in, he got more suspicious. He’d answered, and then the third message came in, telling him to be at the apartment in an hour.

It wasn’t Derek.

He didn’t know how he knew, but he just _did_. If he had to guess, he figured Laura had stolen his phone. He wasn’t sure why she would bother, since her brother obviously wanted nothing to do with him.

And he wasn’t going to go. Why would he? So he could spend the evening convincing himself that Derek wanted him there, when he didn’t, just like last time? So that he could feel the sting of rejection over and over again?

Apparently, yes. That was exactly what he was going to do, because almost an hour later he found himself pulling into the parking a bit down the street from the apartment.

This time when he knocked on Derek’s door, he didn’t do it hesitantly. When the door opened, he walked right on in as if he was actually welcome. Derek didn’t stop him.

“So, Laura?” Stiles guessed, looking at the DVD’s piled on the counter beside two large pizza boxes.

“Good guess.” Derek admitted, shrugging.

Stiles nodded. He knew it. Still, there was a small part of him that had stupidly clung to the hope that maybe, just maybe, impossibly, Derek had been the one to invite him. “Well, I think it’s really uncool that she tricked us both like that.” Stiles said slowly, crossing his arms over his chest. “But she did buy pizza, and rented the Iron Man movies, and since I’m willing to bet you’ve never seen either of them, why let it all go to waste?”

“I thought you were a Batman fan.” Derek said instead of answering, throwing him off guard.

“What?”

“Last time you were here. Your boxers--,”

Stiles cheeks burned. He hadn’t even remembered he was wearing those that day. “Oh, uh, yeah. I am, but I still like Iron Man, and I like the movies better, but don’t tell anyone that.”

Derek looked confused.

“Oh, Derek,” Stiles patted his arm as he passed him, going for the pizza since Derek wasn’t going to offer him any. He was so socially stunted. He grabbed the first movie and tossed it to Derek, who easily caught it in a flash of movement before it hit the ground. “I’ll bring the pizza over.”

Derek put the disc in the DVD player and Stiles carried the boxes over to the couch, placing them on the coffee table.

“You know,” Stiles commented, pulling open the first box. All the toppings. His favourite, of course. “This is our second date in one week.”

“It’s not a date.” Derek said firmly, sitting on the opposite side of the couch so there was an entire cushion between them. Stiles tried not to let that bother him.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” Stiles said before biting into a slice of pizza. It was good.

It shouldn’t have felt as comfortable as it did. It’s not like he and Derek were even friends. In fact, they treated each other with more hostility then kindness. But as the movie played and they both eat pizza, he could picture how nice it would be if things were different. If they actually _did_ like each other.

Derek would be sitting beside him, instead. Stiles’ legs might even be over his lap, and Derek’s arm would be around his shoulder. They could kiss, whenever Stiles felt like it, and maybe even more, after the movie of course. And then Stiles would go back to his dorm, feeling good about the night, instead of feeling empty like he figured he would later on after he left.

They were halfway through the movie when Derek laughed. Stiles had been laughing at the time, too, and he almost missed it over his own boisterous laughter.

Stiles didn’t stare at him, like he kind of wanted. That was the first time he’d heard that sound come out of Derek, and he liked it. But he didn’t want to ruin it, draw attention to it, so he just continued watching the movie like nothing happened.

Stiles finished three quarters of his pizza by the time the movie was over. He stood up afterwards and stretched, trying not to feel too giddy when Derek’s eyes followed the way his t-shirt rode up, revealing a strip of naked skin.

“So…”

“I’ll put the next one in.” Derek said, getting up and brushing past him close enough that his body rubbed against Stiles’.

“Oh, okay.” Stiles said, surprised. He thought Derek was going to kick him out after it was over.

On his way back to the couch Derek turned off the overhead light, leaving the television to be the only source of illumination.

Derek sat back down, this time close enough to Stiles that their legs brushed together. Derek laid his hand on Stiles’ thigh and Stiles looked up at him, only to have Derek crowd into his personal space until he was backing up. Derek put a hand on his shoulder, pushing him farther down, until his back hit the cushions of the couch.

And then Derek’s lips were on his, and he was straddling him just like last time. Stiles couldn’t do anything else, didn’t want to, either, but reach up and tangle his hands in Derek’s hair, pulling him closer.

Derek’s mouth slipped from his lips, moving down his neck. Stiles felt the sting of teeth against his skin and figured he’d have a nice mark there tomorrow that he’d have to explain, but he didn’t really care.

“Derek,” Stiles voice was quiet, barely noticeable over the sound of the television. Derek picked it up anyways, lifting his head to give Stiles a quizzical look. “Dude, can we just--,” he closed his eyes when Derek’s lips found his neck again. “Okay, stop for like, five seconds.”

Derek pulled back but didn’t get off Stiles.

“I just want to clarify something. If we-- if we do this, you’re not going to treat me like shit afterwards like last time, right?”

“Is that what you want?” Derek asked, raising an eyebrow.

Stiles squirmed. “I’m not stupid, Derek, I know you don’t want anything from me but this, and you know, that should bother me but I’m actually okay with it. But I deserve to be treated with respect.”

Derek nodded. “Fine.”

“So-- what are we calling this, then? Are we just-- fuck buddies, then? Or is this going to be a one time thing only?”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Call it whatever you want to call it, just stop talking.”

“Yeah, okay.” Stiles agreed, grabbing Derek’s shirt to pull him back down. “Just checking.”

 

\--

 

It was exactly like last time, only when they were done Derek rewound the movie until they were at the part where they stopped watching. When it was over, Stiles nodded awkwardly to Derek and then left, this time saying that he’d call him sometime soon.

And he didn’t feel as bad afterwards as he did the time before. The hollow feeling was still semi there, but it wasn’t as bad. Maybe it was because this time he knew where they stood. Knew that it wasn’t just a one time thing that only happened because Derek couldn’t find someone better.

Apparently, Derek had a thing for him. Right? He wouldn’t hook up with Stiles twice if there wasn’t some sort of attraction there. And he’d watched both Iron Man movies for him. That had to mean _something_.

Except Stiles didn’t want to look into what it meant. He just wanted to enjoy what he had and not try to think about what else it could mean.

“Where were you?” Jackson asked when Stiles tried to stumble quietly into the room. It was late and he knew it, but he was in a good enough mood that he didn’t want to bother Jackson, for once.

“Out,” Stiles said vaguely, before remembering the bet. He’d completely forgotten about it until that point. “With Derek.” He said, words heavy with implication. “Looks like I’ll be winning that dare any day now.”

Jackson snorted. “Whatever, just shut up so I can go to sleep.”

Stiles grinned and changed in the dark before climbing into bed, his thoughts unsurprisingly on Derek, and his lips, and his hands, and, most of all, his laugh.

 

\--

 

“I don’t know, I just figured you for a serious relationship kind of guy.” Scott said, frowning at him with concern. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Stiles raised an eyebrow. “Have you seen Derek? Hell yeah, I want to do this.”

Scott nodded. “Okay, just-- don’t get attached, you know? I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Stiles snorted. “Derek is honestly the most irritatingly emotionally constipated person I have ever met. He’s even worse than Jackson, Scott. I really don’t think we have to worry about me falling in love with him.”

Scott shrugged. “You do have a thing for people who don’t want you.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes. “Low blow, dude. And Derek actually does want me. Or my body, at least.”

Scott grinned, but it wasn’t his usual, happy grin. Actually, if Stiles really thought about it, he hadn’t had one of those grins in almost a week. Not since Allison left. And he hadn’t even realized, because for once he was being the bad friend who let his love (sex) life interfere with his friendships.

“What’s up, dude?” Stiles asked him, frowning.

“What do you mean?”

“You just seem, I don’t know, not _down_ exactly, but not good, either.” Stiles tried to explain. Scott just shrugged again. “Let me guess, Allison?”

“Yeah,” Scott admitted. “I miss her. And I think we’re fighting. Or at least, we’re not _okay_. Maybe nothings wrong, but nothings right either, you know?”

Stiles didn’t know but he nodded in sympathy anyways.

“Hey,” Isaac said, coming in the room. He was grinning widely. “Guess who got a job?”

The two other boys just stared at him until Stiles broke the silence. “Ew, dude, why?”

Isaac’s shoulders lifted and fell. “I don’t know, I could use the money, and it’s not a bad place. It’s just around the corner, that hardware store? My boyfriend’s bestfriend’s parents own the place so he put in a good word for me.”

Stiles nodded, considering that. “Huh, well, congratulations, buddy.”

Scott didn’t congratulate him. “Your what?” He asked, voice low, expression unreadable.

Isaac met his eyes steadily and Stiles realized that he’d missed what Isaac said. “My boyfriend. Jeremy.”

Scott blinked. “I didn’t know you were seeing someone.”

Isaac averted his eyes. “It’s a recent thing.”

“Huh,” Scott nodded and stood up. “Good for you, man.” He said taking a step towards the door to their room. “I’m going to take a shower.” He added, and then he was gone, not taking a towel or his shower stuff with him.

“That was--,” Stiles looked to Isaac for help. “I don’t even know what that was. What the hell just happened?”

“I have no idea.” Isaac said, shrugging like it didn‘t matter. “What are you doing later?”

“Um, nothing, that I know of. Unless Derek texts me… Why?”

“Jeremy wants to go to that bar on Russel? Wingo?” Isaac explained, his smile less pronounced than it had been when he walked in, but it was still present.

Stiles didn’t want to. In fact, he was planning on going back to his room in an hour and texting Derek to see if he wanted to hang out. The look on Isaac’s face was so pleading, though, that he couldn’t say no.

“Sure, we’ll go after Scott gets back.”

 

\--

 

Two hours later Stiles sent Derek an SOS message.

 _Help me!!_ He’d sent frantically.

Literally seconds later his phone started ringing. “I’ll be back.” He said quickly to the entire table, not to anyone in particular.

“One second,” Stiles said, pressing talk. “I can’t hear anything in here.”

The club was loud and he couldn’t hear Derek’s reply. He ducked into the bathroom, where the music was considerably quieter.

“What’s wrong?” Derek demanded, sounding angrier then Stiles had ever heard him.

“I am in the most uncomfortable situation ever.” Stiles said, looking at himself in the mirror. “Do you want to give me an excuse to bail out?”

The bathroom was occupied by two other guys, both of whom weren’t paying him any attention. Stiles examined his reflection. He looked just as he always did, but his colouring was off a bit due to the florescent lighting.

Derek’s breathing was ragged on the other side of the line. “I thought something was wrong.”

“Not anything, like, _really_ wrong.” Stiles correct, switching the phone to the other hand so he could adjust his shirt. “Just uncomfortable.”

“Don’t send me a text like that again unless you’re actually in trouble.” Derek told him, sounding angry still. “I thought--,”

“Dude, I’m fine.” Stiles frowned. “Were you actually worried?”

“Stiles.”

“Okay, sorry, just-- yeah, I’m fine.” He reassured Derek again, feeling something warm pool in his stomach.

Derek was concerned about him. For some reason, that made him feel light and happy, really happy, despite how he’d been feeling a minute ago when he’d sent that text to Derek.

“So you going to rescue me or not?” He asked, trying not to let the happiness come through too much in his voice. He didn’t want Derek to know how much it mattered that he cared, even if it was only a bit.

“I can’t right now.” Derek said vaguely.

“Oh,” his stomach shouldn’t have sunk at that. “Yeah, that’s cool. I’ll call you tomorrow or something, if you want to hook up. I’ve gotta go.” He said quickly, and he hung up the phone, because for some reason that conversation elicited too many emotions too quickly and he didn’t like that.

Whatever it was he and Derek had started doing (which really hadn’t been much but a few exchanged hand jobs, really) wasn’t supposed to be about anything more than casually getting each other off. Scott had been right when he said not to get too attached, too invested, so he was just backing away for a moment to clear his head.

“Dude,” Scott pushed into the bathroom. “Can we just go home?”

Stiles groaned. Scott was one of the reasons for the SOS text. He’d been sulking the whole night, probably without even realizing it.

Isaac’s boyfriend, Jeremy, was a nice guy. He was cute, if you were into the chiselled blonde type, like Jackson. Stiles, obviously, preferred the darker, quieter type. But he was nice enough, it seemed. He’d made a point to try and be friendly with Scott and Stiles both, but it seemed like Stiles was the only one making an effort back.

“What’s your problem?” Stiles asked, leaning against the sink.

Scott fidgeted. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean, Scott.”

Scott sighed. “I don’t like him, okay? He looks at Isaac like he’s a pet or something he owns or-- I don‘t know! It creeps me out.”

Stiles hadn’t noticed that. Sure, his arm had been around Isaac the entire night, and he did make a point to swap spit with him every twenty minutes, but Stiles thought Scott was exaggerating.

“It’s one night.” Stiles said finally, shrugging because he, too, had been trying to escape just minutes ago. “For Isaac. You know he’d be happy for us.”

Scott snorted. “Fine.” He said angrily, pushing the door to the bathroom back open to storm back into the club.

Stiles seriously wished Derek had agreed to come and get him.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, before we go into this, I made a tiny little error with this chapter. It IS set in America, but I myself am Canadian, and here we celebrate Thanksgiving before Halloween. Now, I wasn't thinking, when writing this chapter, about the fact that American's celebrate it in November, so the time line is going to be a little wacky, since in this chapter it's celebrated during the same time of year that I celebrate it. I would have went back and changed it, but the way the chapter goes, it just didn't fit to put it after Halloween, so I left it.  
> I apologize for any confusion hereafter. Thank you for reading! :)  
> (Also I apologize for the amount of Scisaac in this chapter vs. Sterek, but I promise that the next couple chapters are going to focus more on Derek and Stiles' developing relationship)

“What, no couch tonight?” Stiles teased as Derek pulled him towards the bedroom.

Derek grunted and Stiles grinned.

“Wow, you’re getting romantic on me, Derek. What next? You gunna buy me dinner?”

“Shut up,” Derek ordered, pushing open the bedroom door.

Stiles had been laughing and smiling but the second the door opened, he froze, not even noticing Derek’s hands on his back, urging him forward. Okay, not noticing all that much. Derek’s hands had a bad affect on him, he could admit that.

But the room instead was more distracting then Derek at the moment. Not because it was filled with something horrible, or terribly decorated. Because it was so… impersonal.

It distantly reminded Stiles of a hospital room. There was all the necessary furniture, and that was it. A bed, a dresser, a side table. No personal items at all. No clothes on the floor. Nothing that signalled anyone lived there.

Sure, the rest of the apartment was pretty much the same, but it was so weird to see someone’s bedroom like that. His own bedroom was such an example of his personality, with his posters and _things_. But if Derek’s bedroom was a reflection of who he was, that scared Stiles. Made him scared for Derek, because it would be horrible to feel that… empty all the time.

“What?” Derek grunted, trying to steer him towards the bed.

“Just surprised,” Stiles said nonchalantly. If he brought up what he was thinking, Derek would probably kick him out. “I’ve never been in your bedroom.”

“Mm.” Derek replied, if that even counted as a reply.

His lips were back on Stiles’ before he could say anything else and his body was guiding Stiles towards the bed. He hit the edge of it before letting himself fall back. The bed was comfortable, at least. Really comfortable, actually.

“So what’s the special occasion?” Stiles asked when Derek’s lips moved to his neck and shoulder. His shirt was somewhere in the living room.

“Not giving you a blowjob on my couch.” Derek said, scratching his nails up Stiles’ left side.

His hips pushed up at Derek of their own accord at those words, and his fingers tugged harder at Derek’s hair. “Can’t just--,” he groaned as Derek’s fingers expertly undid his jeans. “Say things like that.”

Derek chuckled against his skin and moved down, trailing kisses from his neck to his chest, to his stomach, until he kissed right below Stiles’ bellybutton.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Stiles muttered as Derek looked up at him and from that position, it was practically obscene, his bluish-green eyes holding Stiles’ stare until his tongue raked out and ran along the strip of skin right above his jeans.

Stiles scrambled to push his jeans off, using his feet to tug the material down. Derek raised an eyebrow at his hurried movements and helped add Stiles’ boxers to the pile of clothes now laying at his feet on the floor beside the bed.

For a moment Stiles wished the lights had been turned off. As comfortable as he was with Derek, there was something terrifying about being so exposed, completely naked, while Derek was almost fully clothed, except for his shirt.

But then Derek’s tongue swiped over the tip of his cock and Stiles shuddered, any feelings of embarrassment completely dissipating.

Derek’s mouth was warm and wet and though he fumbled at times, had to ask and make sure it was good for Stiles, it was the best fucking thing of his life, except maybe watching Derek’s body shudder and his walls crash down when he came undone because of Stiles.

Afterwards, Derek lay beside him on the bed, both of them on their backs. Stiles’ breathing was still a bit shallow and he was still naked, but now he was filled with the warmth and contentment that followed an orgasm.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” Stiles blurted, tilting his head to face Derek.

Derek didn’t smirk or smile or laugh at that. He just watched Stiles with a steady gaze until Stiles sat up and ran a finger over his stomach. “Now it’s my turn.” Stiles grinned, and Derek relaxed, crossing his arms behind his head, his eyes following Stiles’ every movement.

 

\--

 

“Tomorrow’s thanksgiving.” Scott commented, rolling onto his back and away from his textbook, like distancing himself from it would make his workload disappear.

Stiles blinked at him. “I totally forgot.” He said, smacking himself on the forehead. “It’s a good thing we’re not going home because I need that extra day off tomorrow to finish this freaking paper.”

Scott nodded. “It’ll be my first thanksgiving ever without my mom.”

Stiles picked up on the sad, longing tone in his voice. “She’ll be fine. My dad promised not to let her spend it alone.”

Scott shrugged. “I know. It’s just-- weird, you know? I mean, it’s kind of finally settling in that I’m not a kid anymore. I’m in college! I have a roommate and my own responsibilities and no turkey.”

Stiles felt bad for him. Scott and his mother were close in a way that he and his father weren’t. Sure, he loved his dad just as much as Scott loved his mom, but for Scott, it was almost always just him and his mom and Stiles thought that that fact made Scott feel responsible for her happiness as much as his own.

Stiles decided to make sure that tomorrow was as close to perfect as Scott could get without actually going home.

 

\--

 

“KFC?” Scott asked when Jackson and Stiles walked into the room, each of them carrying large brown bags.

He’d invited Jackson. Stiles. Invited _Jackson_. When he’d stopped in his room an hour ago to get his wallet to go out to buy dinner, Jackson had been sitting there alone, laying on his back and staring at the ceiling. Stiles thought Jackson would go home for the holiday, but apparently he hadn’t.

So he’d invited Jackson to his impromptu thanksgiving dinner in Isaac and Scott’s room. Of course, he did force Jackson to pay for half the dinner, but still.

“Closest thing I could get to turkey.” Stiles shrugged.

Scott’s smile practically brightened the room, it was that freaking bright. He stood up and wrapped his arms around Stiles. “You are the best friend ever.” He muttered into Stiles’ shoulder until Stiles firmly pushed him away.

“Eat now, hug later.” Stiles ordered, settling himself on the floor between the beds, leaning his back against Isaac’s bed.

Stiles pulled open the bags and Jackson passed him the paper plates and cups they’d picked up at the dollar store, and he divided food onto four plates and handed them out.

“’s not turkey,” Scott commented around a drumstick. “But it’s definitely a close second.”

“I can’t believe I’m spending thanksgiving on a _floor_ , eating greasy chicken with you three.” Jackson commented from where he sat in front of Scott’s bed.

Stiles considered throwing something at him, but since the only thing within grabbing range was deliciously bad for you fried chicken, Stiles refrained. “You love it,” Stiles said instead. “Don’t deny it. You may act like you’re above us, but you secretly love us.”

Jackson glared at him but didn’t deny it.

After eating he gave his dad a quick call, told him he loved him, made sure Scott’s mom didn’t let him have more than one slice of pie, and then they ended the call. He considered calling Derek, wondering if he went home for thanksgiving, wherever that was, or if he was spending the holiday alone in his apartment, or maybe he and Laura went out to dinner.

He didn’t call. That was too personal, said that he cared to much about Derek’s life, when he wasn’t supposed to.

 

\--

 

Scott pulled on the impossibly tight white t-shirt before adding the leather jacket over top of it. He was just fixing his hair -- again-- when Stiles walked in.

“Dude, what the hell?” Stiles arched an eyebrow. “You didn’t even like Grease.”

Scott shrugged. “It was the easiest costume to put together.” His eyes narrowed on Stiles. “What are you?”

“Uh, a werewolf, obviously.” Stiles said, opening his mouth to reveal the actually impressive looking fangs. His eyes were a bright gold colour, too, and he has some seriously impressive sideburns. “Look, see?” He pointed to his side, where his shirt was ripped and bloodied. “This is where I got bit. Cool, right?”

Scott nodded and put down the comb, stepping back to take one last look in the mirror. He thought he looked alright. The shirt definitely showed off the work he‘d put into working out, and the jacket was kind of cool.

“What do you think Isaac’s going to be?” Scott asked, turning around to face Stiles.

Stiles shrugged. “I don’t know? He didn’t give me any hints, he just turned kind of red every time I asked.”

Scott checked the time on his phone and then tucked it into the pocket of his jacket and added his wallet. “I still don’t see why we have to drive Jeremy, too.” Scott huffed.

Stiles rolled his eyes. Stiles liked Jeremy, unlike Scott. Scott couldn’t figure out _how_. The guy was annoying and, to be honest, Isaac deserved a lot better. Whenever he mentioned this to Stiles, though, he just sighed and shook his head in a knowing way. It was frustrating.

“Because,” Stiles said, adding a pair of fuzzy ears to his head. “Jeremy’s the only reason we’re invited to this party. And plus, it’ll make Isaac happy.”

“Is Derek coming?” Scott asked, changing the subject.

Stiles shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t invite him.” He said, like he didn’t really care. “It’s not like he’s my boyfriend.”

Scott didn’t say anything to that. He knew Stiles enough to know that whatever it was he was doing with Derek, he wanted more than that. But he wouldn’t admit it, no matter how much Scott pushed.

The thing was, Stiles never did anything half way. If he liked you, he really liked you. If he hated you, he really hated you. If he wanted you, well, Scott had watched him chase after Lydia Martin for years with no sign of relenting, even when she ignored him or insulted him.

And Scott was worried about him because of that.

“Might as well go wait outside.” Stiles suggested after a moment of silence. “Isaac and Jeremy should be ready to go any minute now.”

“Yeah,” Scott admitted grudgingly. “Fine.”

He followed Stiles out of the room and to the parking lot. They didn’t have to wait long for Isaac and Jeremy to show up, coming from the direction of Jeremy’s dorm. Thankfully, he lived on the other side of campus. Scott didn’t think he could handle it if he lived in their dorm, on their floor. He just really disliked Jeremy, alright?

“Hey,” Isaac said, and Scott blinked.

You’d think, with them sharing a room, that he’d of seen Isaac without a shirt on at least once. That wasn’t the case. He slept in shorts and a t-shirt, and he never changed with Scott in the room.

“Fireman?” Stiles asked, cocking an eye at him. “I really don’t think that outfit is appropriate to put a fire out in, man.”

Because Isaac was wearing just a pair of fireman’s pants and suspenders. He had to be a bit cold. The night was a bit chilly, and his upper body was completely exposed, and Scott couldn’t really form proper words because of it. The pants hung low on his hips and his exposed stomach was all lean and defined muscles.

And then Allison’s face flashed in his mind and he shook his head. “Are we going?” He asked, pulling open the passenger door.

They all got into Stiles’ jeep, Isaac and Jeremy in the back. “If anyone asks, you’re all twenty-one.” Jeremy said, leaning into the space between Stiles’ and Scott’s seats.

Fifteen minutes later they walked into a large field surrounded by car after car with their headlights turned on. Music played from somewhere, Scott couldn’t tell, and people were drinking and dancing and talking everywhere.

“Halloween is my absolute favourite holiday.” Stiles breathed, looking around. “What other holiday is an excuse for women to wear practically nothing?”

Scott snorted and watched through narrowed eyes as Jeremy, dressed in a really cheesy vampire costume, pulled Isaac into the throng of people.

 

\--

 

Scott was bored. Isaac was nowhere to be seen, probably somewhere with Jeremy. No, definitely. And he didn’t care. Because even he realized he was being weirdly protective of his friend, and he really didn’t want to think about why. He didn’t _know_ why.

Stiles was dancing with some longhaired brunette dressed as a ladybug, but Scott noticed him check his phone more than once, probably looking out for a text from Derek.

And Scott was just standing by himself, away from the ocean of people, browsing Facebook on his phone. He kind of wished he’d just stayed home. There was nothing here for him. His friends were busy, his girlfriend was hours away, and anyone he might of even considered trying to talk to was trashed out of their minds.

At the top of his page was a bunch of pictures of Lydia and Allison, obviously getting ready to go out. Lydia was dressed as a cat, complete with the tail and ears. Allison was in a really cute -- and sexy-- Tinkerbell costume.

Scott grinned to himself and clicked the pictures, wanting to see more. At least, until he got a few pictures in and they changed from Lydia and Allison Pre Party, to Lydia and Allison at the party. And Allison dancing with some guy who was dressed as Batman, minus the mask.

And then to Allison kissing some guy who was dressed as Batman, which is probably why the mask was unnecessary.

The phone slipped from Scott’s hands and he didn’t even move to pick it up for a moment, he just let it lay in the grass at his feet.

His stomach clenched and for a second he wondered if he was going to throw up. Eventually the queasiness subsided, only to be replaced by a warm, angry feeling.

He knew they weren’t doing well. Every other conversation they had ended in a fight. But he thought that things were better than _this_ at least. Better then her… cheating on him. Even thinking the words was difficult. They didn’t make sense. He never once thought that would actually happen.

Breaking up? Sure, he thought it might be a possibility, but he knew he would fight to prove to her that they were worth the hardship. But cheating? How was he supposed to recover from that?

He thought they were fine. Not perfect, not good, but _fine_. Before she’d left that weekend not long ago, they’d spent the entire day doing nothing but enjoying each other and each other’s company. _They’d been fine_.

“Dude,” Stiles clapped him on the back. Scott hadn’t even noticed him break away from the girl he was dancing with. “Maria says that--,” he stopped and blinked twice. “Scott, what’s wrong?”

Scott couldn’t answer, not with words. He just picked up his phone and handed it to Stiles. Stiles took it with a confused expression on his face, and then stared at the screen. His eyes flicked from the picture to Scott, before he pressed something and the phone went dark.

“Scott,” he said in a quiet voice. “Hey, man, are you--,”

“Okay?” Scott filled in. He laughed, but it sounded wrong, and he broke off with a really pathetic sob. “She _cheated_ on me.”

“Maybe-- maybe it’s not--,” Stiles made a helpless face, unable to think up a plausible excuse for the pictures. “Maybe you should call her, figure out what’s going on.”

Scott shook his head. He wasn’t going to call her. Not now, anyways. What would be the point? Either he’d yell at her, which he’d regret, or he’d cry, which would just be embarrassing.

“Can you just get me a drink? Please?” He asked Stiles desperately. “I really need to get that image out of my mind or I think I’m going to go crazy.”

Stiles nodded quickly, like he was happy to have something to do, and ran off in the other direction. Scott didn’t have the energy to hold himself up anymore, so he just let his legs give out and sprawled out on the grass, not caring if anyone gave him a weird look.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed before Stiles was back with a drink in hand. “I couldn’t find beer but Jeremy had a bottle of vodka, and --,”

Scott grabbed the cup, not caring if it was from Jeremy. He chugged it back in one long, burning sip. His insides almost instantly warmed and the alcohol seemed to sit like a rock in his stomach, but he didn’t care.

“Got anymore?” He asked, raising his eyebrows at Stiles.

“Are you sure this is how you want to deal with--,”

“ _Stiles_.”

“Right, okay.” Stiles pulled a bottle out of the back pocket of his jeans. “But don’t drink too much, okay?”

“I won’t,” Scott lied. “Go-- dance with whatever her name is. I’ll be fine.”

Stiles gave him a dubious look but Scott made a shooing gesture with his hand as he uncapped the bottle. This time, he didn’t even bother pouring it into a glass.

Half the bottle was gone by the time the world started to blur around Scott, but he kept going. Stiles came back a few minutes after and yanked the bottle straight from his hands. “Scott--,”

“Remember--,” Scott burped loudly and laughed. “Sorry. Remember in tenth grade when Allison and I first broke up and you thought getting drunk would be the best form of therapy?”

“Vaguely. But I was sixteen, Scott. It’s not exactly as if I made good decisions then.”

“No, you do, man. You do.” Scott grinned up at him. “I feel like--,” Scott couldn’t think of an appropriate comparison so he just flopped back onto the grass, letting his head hit the slightly damp earth.

“We should go home.” Stiles said suddenly. “Yeah, I’m taking your ass home.”

Scott shook his head, no. “I don’t want to. Allison slept in that bed.” And the nice, warm, fuzzy feeling gave way to one of emptiness and pain. “She was supposed to love me.” He looked up at Stiles with wide eyes. “Why do people always have to hurt each other?”

Stiles gave him a concerned look. “I’m getting Isaac and we’re leaving.”

Scott whined. “No, he’ll bring Jeremy with him and I _hate_ Jeremy.”

“Okay, you’re going through a really bad thing right now, emotionally, so I’m going to ignore the fact that you’re acting like you’re five. Don’t move, okay?”

Scott didn’t think he could move, even if he wanted to. That thought was proved right when he tried to stand up and instead somehow ended up with his face pressed into the ground. Which hurt. A lot.

“Never mind, I’m taking you with me.” Stiles muttered, and Scott felt someone’s hand on his arm, yanking him up. “You’re heavier then you look, man.”

“Maybe a heart weighs more when it’s broken.” Scott suggested.

“You’re a dumbass, you know that?”

“Maybe that’s why Allison cheated on me.”

Stiles didn’t have anything to say to that.

 

\--

 

Isaac was cold and not nearly drunk enough to be enjoying himself. He vowed, after last time, that he would never get that drunk again, and so far he was sticking to that.

Jeremy was holding his hand, keeping him from going off to find Scott or Stiles as he talked to a few of his friends. What Isaac really wanted to do was just go home. His costume was no longer comfortable, and he was too exposed without a shirt on. Plus, he felt completely out of place, standing there with Jeremy’s friends who he hadn’t even been introduced to.

“Isaac!”

Half an hour ago Stiles had disappeared with a bottle of vodka. Now, he returned with a very drunk Scott who had obviously drunken that bottle.

“What’s wrong with him?” Isaac asked, addressing Stiles instead of Scott.

Stiles made a pained face but Scott answered. “No, it’s a secret.” Scott said fiercely.

Stiles just held up his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “We need to go. He’s going to start throwing up soon or something and I think he just really needs to go to bed.”

Jeremy broke off from his friends then, telling them he’d talk to them in a few minutes. “What’s going on?” He asked Isaac.

“Scott--,”

“We’re heading home.” Stiles said firmly as his slip on Scott slipped and he almost fell on his face.

Isaac moved forward at the last second, pulling his hand from Jeremy’s to grab Scott. “Don’t feel good.” Scott muttered again Isaac’s arm.

Isaac straightened him and made sure that Stiles had a good grip on him before stepping away. He wasn’t sure if Jeremy was as oblivious to how Isaac felt for Scott as Scott was. He’d noticed that Jeremy and Scott didn’t get along as well as Stiles and Jeremy did. Then again, Jeremy didn’t seem to like anyone who seemed even remotely like competition.

But Jeremy was nice, when they were alone, and he _wanted_ Isaac. Isaac wasn’t used to that, used to someone who liked him back. Sure, Scott cared about him, as much as he could. And he accepted that, he did. He knew it was a lost cause, and he would take Scott’s friendship, if that was all he could have, even if that meant watching Scott and Allison kiss, or listening to Scott talk about how awesome Allison was. Because Scott was worth that. He was just genuinely good and caring and Isaac could accept everything else

“You two ready to go?” Stiles asked, pulling Isaac away from his thoughts.

“Uh-uh,” Scott said, sounding like a ten year old. “He can’t come.” Scott said, glaring at Jeremy.

Jeremy laughed good naturedly. “Someone doesn’t handle their alcohol very well.” He said, but his eyes were narrowed. “We’re going to stay.”

Isaac gave him a look. He didn’t like it when people made decisions for him. “I don’t know, Stiles probably needs help getting him into the dorm.”

“He does.” Scott nodded his head quickly. “Right, Stiles?”

Stiles looked like he really didn’t want to be caught in the middle of this. “Yeah, I guess.” He admitted.

“I’m not leaving.” Jeremy said firmly, just a hint of annoyance in his voice. “We just got here. Not our fault your friend got stupidly wasted.”

Looking at Scott’s slack, intoxicated state, Isaac felt something protective surge up inside of him. “I’m going to go with them.”

Jeremy raised his eyebrows. “You’re going to ditch me?”

Isaac shrugged. “You’re fine without me.”

“Seriously? You’re going to chose them over me?” Jeremy asked, a disbelieving look on his face. “Are you kidding me?”

“I’m not choosing anyone, I’m helping out my friends.” Isaac tried not to snap the words, but they came out harder then he meant to. “Sorry. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

Jeremy laughed. “Don’t bother, Isaac.”

He tried not to notice the way his stomach felt like it was dropping as he turned away from his probably-ex-boyfriend. “I’ve got his left side.” Isaac said in a voice that was calmer than he’d expect it to be.

Isaac put his hand on Scott’s waist, fingers digging into the leather jacket. He smelled like alcohol and the body spray he always wore, something spicy with a sweet undertone. Together, the two scents were dizzying.

“Jeremy’s a jackass.” Scott commented before they even got a step away, more than loud enough for Jeremy to hear. Isaac’s cheeks went red but Scott seemed to find it hilarious. “Jackass.” He repeated, laughing.

“What’s wrong with him?” Isaac asked Stiles as they made their way slowly through the crowd.

“I’ll let him tell you.” Stiles said quietly. “But the short explanation is that he drank about ten shots worth of vodka.”

Stiles made Scott sit in the back of the jeep and let Isaac sit in the passenger seat for once. He’d never sat up there before, since it was Scott’s designated seat and he was cool with that. In fact, he’d been grateful that Scott and Stiles had even accepted him into their friendship so easily. He hadn’t really have _friends_ before.

Sure, he was sort of friends with Jackson back in high school, and that had semi carried over to college, but they hadn’t ever been really close, not like Jackson and Danny. And he didn’t really hang out with anyone else.

The drive from the party to campus seemed longer then the one from campus to the party. Scott was mumbling to himself in the back seat and Isaac occasionally caught words, like his own name, or Stiles’, or Allison’s.

Getting Scott from the party to the jeep was easy compared to getting Scott from the jeep to their room. He was practically limp in Stiles and Isaac’s arms. He kept leaning his head on Isaac’s shoulder and his leather jacket was rubbing uncomfortable against Isaac’s uncovered ribs.

“Do you need me to stay?” Stiles asked when they finally deposited Scott in his bed.

“No,” Scott said quickly. “I’m fine. Stiles, go.”

“I’ve got him.” Isaac assured Stiles.

Stiles nodded once, gave Scott one last worried look, and then disappeared.

The second he was gone Scott sat up and peeled off his leather jacket, his shirt quickly following. Isaac averted his eyes. He’d seen Scott without a shirt on numerous times, but it was always difficult to tear his eyes away.

“I don’t like your costume,” Scott told him as he laid back down on his bed.

Isaac looked down at himself. He’d spent a long time trying to think of something to get. The fireman costume had been Jeremy’s idea. Now, Isaac was really regretting listening to him. “I couldn’t think of anything else.” Isaac admitted.

“’s distracting.” Scott said in a mumbled voice.

Isaac tried not to hope that Scott meant that in a good way, but failed. He got up to get a shirt out of his closet but Scott’s hand grabbed his wrist, stopping him. “C’mere.” He said, grinning with his eyes closed and tugging on Isaac’s arm.

Isaac really should have struggled a bit more, but he didn’t have it in him, and so he let Scott pull him down onto the bed. “You’re really drunk.” Isaac felt compelled to point out.

Scott snorted. “Not drunk enough.” he said, brown eyes flicking open to meet Isaac’s.

Isaac laid himself down on the bed beside Scott, and Scott propped himself up on one elbow, his eyes not leaving Isaac’s. He leaned in, just a bit, close enough that Isaac could feel the heat coming off him.

“I want to--,” Scott’s eyes moved to Isaac’s lips and Isaac licked them instinctively, feeling something warm pool in his stomach. “Can I--?”

He didn’t finish the question before he leaned forward, pressing his lips against Isaac’s.

How many times had Isaac pictured this exact scene? Too many to count, if he was being honest. Except in every fantasy, Scott wasn’t still dating Allison. He also wasn’t completely wasted out of his mind, too intoxicated to realize what he was doing.

Isaac pulled away from Scott and sat up. Scott gave him a hurt, confused look. “You don’t want to do that.” Isaac said quietly. “Scott, you’re drunk, okay? I’m not doing something you’re going to regret in the morning.”

“Not going to regret it.” Scott assured him, following Isaac’s movements and sitting up. He put a hand on Isaac’s thigh and Isaac tried his best to ignore it, to ignore how large and warm it was. “Don’t you want to?”

Isaac swallowed thickly. The world was a really, really unfair place. “What about Allison?” He said suddenly.

Scott’s face contorted into something angry. It wasn’t a good look on him. Isaac liked Scott better when he was smiling, his face soft and his eyes alight. This Scott was almost frightening. “I don’t care about Allison.”

Isaac would be lying if he said he hadn‘t wished to hear those words a hundred times. He knew that made him a bad person, he knew that Allison was actually nice, and she was pretty, and he couldn‘t even blame Scott for loving her. But he couldn‘t help it.

“Okay,” Isaac said after a moment. “But you need to sleep.”

He got up from the bed and turned off the light before going into his own bed. “Isaac,” Scott whined.

“Go to bed.”

Scott wasn’t going to go to bed. Isaac heard Scott’s bed groan and then suddenly Scott was on top of him, all warm and hard and heavy, straddling Isaac’s waist.

“You want me to go to bed?” Scott asked, his voice whispering in Isaac’s ear.

Isaac shivered. “Scott--.”

“Come on, Isaac,” Scott urged. His voice was rough and low and it did things to Isaac’s insides, making him feel loose and tingly. “Say you don’t want me, and I’ll go.”

“Scott,” Isaac repeated, the word coming out like a groan.

“Say it.” Scott said again, his hips grinding down onto Isaac’s.

Isaac tried to hold it back but the moan slipped threw his lips. He wanted to push Scott off, to stop them before they really did do something that Scott would regret in the morning, because Scott didn’t want him. Not like that. And he didn’t want Scott to ever look at him like with hate in his eyes for allowing him to go threw with this. He didn’t think he’d be able to handle it.

But Scott’s body felt so perfect again his, and his lips pressed into Isaac’s neck and all of his self control was slipping.

“Isaac, please,” Scott pleaded, and that was it. He was a goner.

His hands gripped Scott’s hips, holding him in place, and Scott made an appreciative sound. “Promise you won’t hate me.”

“I couldn’t ever hate you.” Scott promised before kissing Isaac again. This time it wasn’t just a press of lips. It was bodies, and tongue, and perfect, the best, and Isaac would be content to do this for the rest of his life.

Scott’s hand drifted down Isaac’s chest and low, rubbing him hard through the material of his pants. “Want you.” Scott panted into Isaac’s mouth.

Isaac made quick work of Scott’s zipper, undoing his jeans easily so he could get a hand on him. “Love you.” Isaac said back.

He didn’t mean to. He hadn’t thought about it before hand. The words just slipped between his lips without his allowance and he froze, his hand still inside Scott’s jeans.

Scott arched against his palm, trying to get more friction. “Love _you_ ,” Scott moaned back automatically.

Isaac didn’t fool himself into believing Scott meant it. He knew he didn’t. Knew he _couldn’t_. But it didn’t really matter, did it? Maybe it doesn’t matter if people mean it when they say they love you. Sometimes, you just need to hear it.

 


	9. Chapter 9

Jackson wasn’t in the room when he shut the door behind himself. Stiles figured he had his own Halloween plans, since he’d seen the other boy getting ready earlier that afternoon. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked the time. It was almost one, but Derek might still be awake.

_You up?_ he sent quickly, sinking onto his bed.

A few minutes later a short  _yes_ came, and Stiles stood back up. He checked his costume one last time in the mirror. He thought it looked good, kind of cool.

He just wanted to get out. The night had been chaotic, first with the pictures of Allison, and then with Scott getting drunk. He hadn’t really gotten to have fun at the party, but the night technically wasn’t over. Plus, if he was being honest with himself, he would have rather of spent the entire night with Derek over that party, anyway.

He didn’t warn Derek that he was coming over. He just pocketed his cellphone and headed out. If Isaac needed him to help with Scott, he’d text. Scott had probably passed out immediately, anyways.

It took him less than ten minutes to get to Derek’s apartment. The downstairs door was unlocked -- as it had been every other time Stiles had stopped by. Stiles distantly wondered if it was ever locked.

He adjusted his ears and knocked on Derek’s door, suddenly wondering if maybe Derek would find his costume stupid. Maybe he thought dressing up on Halloween was childish. In fact, he most likely did. Derek didn’t seem like the type to appreciate the finer parts of the holiday.

The door opened just as he was about to pull the ears fake wolf-ears off. Derek blinked at him, eyes narrowing as he took in the costume.

“Um, trick-or-treat?” Stiles said, smiling feebly.

Derek took a step back, allowing him into the apartment. “What are you wearing?” He asked, raising an eyebrow, expression unreadable.

Stiles shrugged, shutting the door behind himself, trying not to seem self-conscious. “Halloween costume.” He said casually. “I went to this party.”

Derek reached out a hand and brushed his fingers of Stiles’ cheek, just barely missing the fake sideburns. “Interesting choice.” He said slowly.

“Yeah, whatever,” Stiles said offhandedly. “It was a last minute thing.”

“You’ve got contacts.” Derek pointed out.

“Okay, so I might have spent weeks picking it out and doing research.” Stiles stepped closer to him. “You like it?” He asked, grasping the front of Derek’s t-shirt.

“I think that you should take it off.” Derek answered, and while there was a light, teasing tone to his voice, there was a serious, almost a bit frightening intensity in his eyes.

Stiles reached up and took off the ears, reaching around Derek to place them on the kitchen counter. He let his hand linger on Derek’s waist afterwards, and Derek’s arms went around him in turn.

“We should--,”

“Mm,” Derek agreed, lips at Stiles’ neck. He reached up and tugged off one of Stiles’ fake sideburns and Stiles quickly ripped off the other one.

“Couch,” Stiles ordered before dropping his hands and sliding them up under Derek’s shirt, nails scratching at his back. “Or bedroom. Just--,”

“What? Floor’s not an option?” Derek asked, fingers moving to the loops of Stiles’ jeans. “Or the counter?”

Stiles’ mouth opened and then closed. Derek smirked but started pushing him towards the bedroom as his teeth and lips moved over Stiles’ neck, and then shoulders, when he pushed over the material of his shirt.

When Derek pushed opened his bedroom door and guided Stiles inside for the second time, Stiles wondered if Derek would consider it crossing a line if Stiles bought him a plant for Christmas. He needed _something_ in that room.

 

\--

 

Miraculously, Scott wasn’t hungover when he woke up the next morning. Unfortunately, he remembered everything from the night before. It was like the picture of Allison kissing someone else was plastered onto the back of his eyelids, and he was forced to look at it every time he blinked.

Surprisingly, that wasn’t even the worst of it. Oh no. The worst of it as laying in bed next to him, snoring quietly. _Isaac_ , who he’d forced into something last night. Who, while he was drunk -- though, if he was honest with himself, by the time the clothes came off, he really hadn’t been very drunk anymore-- he convinced to hook up with him.

Scott hated himself for that. Hated himself for pressuring Isaac into something that he didn’t want. Isaac, who was simultaneously vulnerable and sweet but confident and strong. Isaac, who’d shared his deepest secret with Scott because he _trusted_ him.

And what did Scott do with that trust? Used him as a rebound when his girlfriend cheated on him. Got belligerently drunk and probably ruined his relationship with Jeremy.

Isaac was going to hate him, Scott realized suddenly. There was no way he wouldn’t. And if he _didn’t_ , it was only because Isaac was way too good, way too forgiving of those who hurt him.

Scott didn’t want to be another hidden scar for Isaac to cover up.

He crawled out of bed slowly, careful not to move the mattress at all. He had to get out of there before Isaac woke up and kicked him out of the bed, possibly literally. He didn’t want to see the realization in Isaac’s eyes as he woke up and remembered everything from last night.

He only stopped to grab his phone and a change of clothes before he was out the door, heading down the hall to Stiles’ room. Jackson was just going to have to deal with him being there.

He wasn’t even sure what time it was when he knocked on Stiles’ door. It was daytime, but it could have been early morning or the afternoon.

Morning, he realized when Stiles answered the door in just a pair of boxers, his eyes heavily lidded. “Dude,” Stiles croaked, looking behind him at the alarm clock on his bedside table. “It’s eight in the morning. Go away.”

Scott grabbed his arm and shook his head. “I can’t,” he said heavily. “I--,” he ran a hand through his hair as Stiles watched him impatiently, eyes flicking back to his bed every few seconds. “I hooked up with Isaac last night.”

Stiles stared at him blankly for a second before his expression changed to shock, then disbelief, then anger. And he slapped Scott across the face, hard.

“Shit!” Stiles exclaimed, looking from his hand to Scott’s face. He grabbed Scott’s arm and pulled him into the room. “Sorry, but-- no, you deserved it.”

Scott nodded.

“No, seriously, Scott, you can’t just-- you can’t just _do_ that to him. I know--,” Stiles sighed. “ _Allison_. I _know_ , dude, I do, but--,”

“But I’m an asshole.” He said, trying to ignore Jackson, who was laying in bed and eying them with interest. Usually, Scott didn’t really mind Jackson all that much. Sure, he’d been an dick in high school, but he wasn’t so bad now. Not to Scott, at least.

Right now he wished Jackson would leave.

“Yeah, you really are.” Stiles agreed, sinking onto his bed. He ran a hand over his face. “Shit,” said Stiles, yet again.

“What am I going to do?” Scott moaned, putting his face in his hands. “He’s going to hate me.”

Stiles nodded, which was really unhelpful. “No, you know what you’re going to do instead of sitting here crying about it? You’re going to take go take a shower and wait for him to get up. Then, you’re going to apologize, and I mean really apologize. No half assing it, Scott.” Scott nodded to show that he understood. “Then, Isaac will most likely forgive you, because--,“ he paused and waved his hand. “Just because. And then you’re going to leave the room and you’re going to go outside and you’re going to call Allison to sort this shit out before you have another scene like last night.”

“Yeah, yeah you’re right.” Scott stood up. “I need-- I need to apologize. And figure out--,” he nodded again. “Can I borrow your shower stuff, though? I left it in my room and I don’t want to wake him up.”

Stiles waved a hand at the bag hanging on the closet door. “Just-- try not to make things worse, okay?”

Scott snorted, not because that was unlikely, but because it was probably impossible for him not to make things worse right now.

 

\--

 

When Scott went back to his room, clean but not feeling any better, Isaac was awake. He was perched on the edge of his bed, hands covering his face. When the door opened he looked up at Scott with a lost expression.

“Hey,” Scott said lamely.

Isaac’s lips feebly lifted at the corner in an attempt to smile, but after a moment he gave up. “How do you feel? Hungover?”

Isaac was worrying about him. After everything, he still worried about Scott. It wasn’t fair.

Scott shook his head, no, and went to sit on his own bed. It was messed up from last night, even though he hadn’t slept in it.

“I wanted to apologize. For last night.” Scott told Isaac, meeting his eyes. He didn’t want to. In fact, he’d rather look anywhere but into their blue depths right now, would do anything not to have to watch the emotions play out on Isaac’s face. “It shouldn’t have happened.” Scott continued.

Isaac’s face went from blankly confused to wounded and back to blank in a matter of seconds. “No, yeah, you’re right. It shouldn’t have. I’m sorry, I tried to stop you, but--,”

Scott’s mouth fell open with shock but he quickly closed it. “No, Isaac, don’t apologize. It’s not your fault. It’s mine. I shouldn’t have thrown myself at you, I was just-- I wasn’t having a good night.”

He didn’t tell Isaac about Allison. Maybe it was because telling him was like admitting it finally to himself that it really _happened_ , there was no going back.

“I tried--,” Isaac waved his hand. “I tried to tell you that you’d regret it.”

Scott nodded. He _did_ regret it. Not because of Isaac, but then, at the same time, it was completely because of Isaac. He’d enjoyed it. Actually, looking back, he’d been really into it. More into it then he should have been. Isaac was his _friend_ and a _guy_. But he’d loved every second of their bodies pressed together, every second of Isaac’s hands or lips on him, which was something he‘d have to evaluate later on. But friends didn’t just give friends hand jobs without it ruining things, which is why he regretted it. That, and he’d have to tell Allison.

“I’m sorry.” Scott said again. “Really, Isaac, I’m so sorry.”

Isaac shrugged. “No big deal, man. It doesn’t have to change things. I mean, it meant nothing to both of us, so why let it ruin our friendship, right?”

Scott’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“Totally.” Isaac grinned now. “But I’m going to go take a shower.”

He left the room without turning back, making sure that Scott didn’t notice the way his eyes were wet and rimmed with red.

 

\--

 

Derek had been in the middle of cooking dinner -- putting a store bought pizza in the over-- when Stiles texted him, asking if could come over. Derek figured he’d have enough time to jump in the shower quickly before he got there and said yes.

He wasn’t sure what he was doing with Stiles. He wasn’t sure _why_ he was doing what he was with Stiles. Well, he knew what they were _literally_ doing, but not what they were _doing._

He knew he should have cut off ties from Stiles weeks ago. Shouldn’t have let him worm his way into Derek’s bed, because it wasn’t good for either of them. But it was hard to push him away when he needed the contact, needed someone. And that was probably the most important reason to stop seeing Stiles.

Derek didn’t like needing anyone, even if it was only physical.

And it _was_ only physical. It wasn’t like they hung out after that second time, watching those stupidly good movies. They didn’t go out, didn’t _date._ Stiles came over, they hooked up, he left. That was it. That was all either of them wanted.

Derek was out of the shower and the pizza was done by the time Stiles knocked on his door. He hadn’t even cut it yet, and figured he’d now have to offer a piece to Stiles or he’d seem rude.

“Hey,” Stiles said, walking into his apartment like he belonged there. He didn’t hesitate anymore, was never uncertain when Derek opened the door to let him in.

Stiles’ arms were filled with books, Derek realized when Stiles actually tossed said books onto his coffee table. He raised an eyebrow and Stiles flushed.

“Look, I know I should have asked first, but I didn’t want to give you a chance to say no, okay?” Stiles said, sitting on the couch. “My roommate is a jackass 80% of the time, and right now is one of those times. I can’t work in Scott and Isaac’s room because they had sex and now I can’t look at them together without picture it which, by the way, ew. And the one time I tried to do work in the library I woke up with drool covering my text book.”

“You’re doing homework.” Derek stated.

Stiles nodded, a defiant glint in his eyes, like he would argue if Derek tried to throw him out. “I’ve got a three page paper due in, like, three days and I’ve barely even got a page done. You have internet, right?”

Derek nodded. He did, though he didn’t use it.

“So I can stay?” Stiles asked, looking hopeful.

“Just don’t bother me.” Derek said, though he doubted Stiles would be able to refrain from doing that. “Pizza?” he asked, gesturing at the food on the counter.

“Oh, hell yes.” Stiles said, sniffing appreciatively. “I’m starving. I’m living off Kraft Dinner and ramen noodles until my dad sends down my allowance.”

Derek shouldn’t care about that. He shouldn’t want to make sure Stiles was eating properly. That was caring more than he was comfortable with, more then Stiles would be comfortable with. But he still cut Stiles a big piece and put it on a plate in front of his books on the table.

Belatedly, Derek realized they were already crossing a line, just having Stiles sit there in his living room to do work. Derek couldn’t make himself kick him out, though. Not when he was sitting cross-legged on the floor, leaning over a book. Or when he trapped his pen lid between his teeth and wrote something down on a piece of paper, only to repeat the words seconds later on his computer. Or even when he just read for minutes on end, his eyes skimming the pages with a serious intensity, his eyelashes casting shadows on his face.

Derek had to force himself to stop looking. Someone writing an essay, for fuck sakes, should not be so distracting.

“I’m turning on the TV.” Derek said after half an hour of just sitting there, trying to eat and busy himself with not looking at Stiles. He needed a different distraction now.

Stiles blinked up at him. “Whatever, dude, it’s your apartment.” He said before returning to his books.

 

\--

 

Somehow, Derek’s apartment turned into Stiles’ work place, apparently. The second time he came over, arms overloaded with books, Derek had raised an eyebrow, just like the first time, but Stiles didn’t stop to ask again. He just threw himself down on the floor and got to work again.

Every time after that, Derek stopped being surprised. He knew he should put his foot down, tell Stiles to get the hell out of his apartment when they weren’t even hooking up now, not as often, anyways. Barely ever.

By the time Stiles was done his work, he was tired and ready to go home. Derek couldn’t even be upset about it. He figured he _should_ have been. Their relationship was supposed to be entirely physical. But it would be wrong of him to throw Stiles out of his apartment when he was using it to get his work done, Derek rationalized.

The worst thing that came from the whole thing, though, was that Derek got used to it. Stiles’ schedule was crazy and unpredictable, so he never knew when Stiles was coming, unless he texted first. For some reason, Derek made sure to have something that could feed more than one person ready just in case he did show up. Stiles would always take the food, thank him, and get down to work.

He got used to seeing Stiles sitting on his floor, or on the couch with the coffee table pulled towards him. Got used to his smell lingering in the apartment, never really leaving before Stiles returned and scented the place up all over again. He even got used to the way Stiles sometimes muttered under his breath as he worked, reading aloud of thinking aloud, Derek didn’t no, didn’t ask.

He got used to Stiles. And maybe he started liking him there.

“Think of it this way,” Stiles said more than a month after that first time. They were laying on the floor, naked except for Stiles’ boxers and Derek’s briefs.

Derek didn’t _mean_ to attack Stiles while he was working. Stiles had tilted his head, completely exposing his neck, for minutes, and Derek hadn’t been able to do anything but stare intently at it before he lost it and climbed on top of him. Stiles had just laughed and allowed himself to be deterred from his work for a minute.

“I have Christmas break in, like, two weeks, and then exams when I get back, and then you can have your apartment back to yourself.” Stiles continued, propping himself up on an elbow.

The way Stiles said it indicated that Derek should be happy about that. Should be relieved. And maybe he was, just a bit, happy to have Stiles gone, because he was worming himself into more than just Derek’s bed and that was terrifying. But for some reason he jut felt empty, like he didn’t want that day to come.

“My workload wasn’t nearly as bad at the beginning of the semester. They’re just getting us ready for the shit storm that is exams.” Stiles explained, fingers running softly up Derek’s ribs.

Derek just nodded, content to let Stiles do all the talking.

“What are you doing for Christmas?” Stiles asked suddenly, tilting his head. “Do your parents live in the city, or do they live somewhere else?”

Derek nearly choked on thin air. It was times like this when it was hard to remind himself that Stiles didn’t know everything about him. Didn’t know about his past and his present. Wasn’t aware of what had happened.

He realized he didn’t want Stiles to know. Didn’t want him to pity Derek, like he was weak and needed to be looked after, because he didn’t need that. Already got enough of that crap from Laura.

“Out of town.” Derek lied.

Stiles nodded. “My dad’s probably going to be happy to see me. We were supposed to go home for thanksgiving, but then my Business teacher gave everyone a killer essay assignment and I figured I’d just wait until Christmas, use the time off to do my work.” Stiles blinked slowly. “I miss him. A lot. It’s kind of weird, being away from home, I guess. What about you?”

What could he say to that? “It’s not weird being away from home for me, because home is a bunch of buried family members and a burnt down house. Being away from home is a million times better than being back there.” But he couldn’t, so he just shrugged.

“Right, sorry, getting personal.” Stiles stood up, stretching his arms over his head, and yawned. He looked at the clock on Derek’s wall and his eyes widened. “Shit, it’s after midnight. I didn’t bring my key. Shit, shit, shit. Jackson’s probably asleep, and-- _shit_.”

He started scrambling to pick up all his text books, and Derek watched his hurried movements silently, while he thought.

“You can just stay here.” He offered after watching Stiles drop the same text book twice.

Stiles looked up at him with wide eyes. “What?”

Derek shrugged. “It doesn’t mean anything. It’s late, you have class tomorrow, I’m only five minutes from campus. Just stay here, or not. Whatever.”

Stiles slowly placed his books back on the coffee table. “You sure?”

Derek shrugged again. “There’s extra blankets in the closet. The couch isn’t that uncomfortable.”

Stiles’ face went carefully blank and he nodded. Derek tried not to notice that he smelled distinctly of disappointment, like he thought Derek was letting him sleep in his bed. Derek had considered it, but decided it was best not to cross _that_ line, at least, even if they were crossing so many others.

“Night,” Stiles called after him when Derek disappeared into his bedroom.

Derek crawled into bed and tried to sleep. The sound of Stiles’ heart beating, of his breath evening as he finally passed out, kept him up anyways. He tried not to think about what it meant, that he would have preferred to just have Stiles laying beside him.

 

\--

 

Stiles woke up the next morning on Derek’s couch. For a moment, he didn’t realize where he was. Then he recognized the room around him, the couch, the distinct smell of Derek that clung to the surface he was sleeping on, and he promptly fell onto the floor, his head cracking against the ground with a sickening sound.

He groaned and sat up, trying his best to ignore the way his head started aching, because the light coming in from the window was not morning light. It was too bright, the sun too high in the sky. That was definitely afternoon light. _Stiles-is-late-for-class_ light. Shit.

“Derek!” He yelled. It was Derek’s fault that he was late.

Derek didn’t answer so Stiles walked over to his bedroom door and rapt on it twice, hard enough that it would wake him if he were still asleep. He considered just pushing his way into Derek’s room and yelling at him for not setting an alarm, for making them both miss class, but he didn’t want to invade Derek’s privacy.

Instead, he made another annoyed noise and started cleaning up his mess in the living room, folding the blankets he’d used and piling them at the end of the couch. He had just piled his books together, his laptop on top of the stack, when the front door opened and Derek walked in, giving him a questioning look.

“We missed class.” Stiles offered as an explanation, no longer feeling as annoyed as he had when he first woke up.

“Did you have a test today?” Derek asked, putting two large Styrofoam cups on the counter.

“No.” Stiles admitted when Derek added a brown paper bag beside the cups, and his mouth started watering. He hadn’t even realized he was hungry, but suddenly he was starving.

“Did you have an important lecture?” Derek continued, raising his eyebrows. God, that was always the most animated part of him. Stiles had often wondered how many emotions Derek could convey with just his stupid eyebrows. Right now, the were amused and questioning.

“No.”

“Will you die if you don’t go to class today?”

“No.” Again.

“Then calm down and come over here. I got breakfast.” Derek smiled then, not a smirk or a sarcastic twist of his lips. Just a small, barely there smile that was happy and amused and kind of wonderful, if Stiles was honest with himself.

“You’re buying me breakfast now?” Stiles asked, grinning as he made his way over to Derek and the wonderful smell of sausage and cheese and grease, which ew, but also yum.

“No, I bought myself breakfast.” Derek said, pulling a breakfast sandwich out of the bag and taking a huge bite, chewing slowly.

“If there’s not one in there for me I’m punching you in the face.” Stiles threatened, but he was joking. He knew Derek got him breakfast, which was too weird to think about because, while Derek had fed him numerous times, this felt distinctively different, like it meant something and wasn’t just an offhand gesture.

He reached into the bag and helped himself to the other sandwich inside before grabbing one of the cups of coffee. “So good,” Stiles murmured as he bit into it. “How did you know I love these things?”

Derek shrugged. “Good guess.”

So, sure, he missed class for, like, the first time ever. And sure, he’d have to ask someone for their notes. And yeah, he hadn’t showered today, and his back kind of ached from sleeping on the couch, but Stiles couldn’t help but feel that this might have been one of the best afternoons of his life, because it mattered. Derek’s smile, and the breakfast, and letting him stay over-- it all mattered.

That was going to come back and kick him in the ass, he knew. But he didn’t really care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to say a big thank you to everyone who leaves reviews! I don't reply to all of them -- I'm not sure what the protocol is with that, do people find it annoying? I'm not sure-- but I appreciate every single one, and they mean a lot! Thank you for reading.


	10. Chapter 10

“Dude, you can’t stay in your dorm for Christmas.” Stiles said, mouth agape.

Isaac just shrugged. Scott didn’t say anything. He was always quieter lately when the three of them were alone in their room. From what Stiles could tell, Scott and Isaac were still friends. They still spoke to each other, just now it was less open.

Scott had called Allison after speaking to Isaac that day, just like Stiles told him to. Apparently, Allison had cried and apologized and Scott had cried and admitted that he didn’t know if he could ever forgive her or himself. But, in the end, they’d promised to meet during Christmas holidays, to talk, maybe work things out, maybe call them off for good.

“I’m not going home.” Isaac said, picking at his bed. “Not unless I have to.”

Isaac had still not confided in Stiles the way he had with Scott, so Stiles didn’t ask him about his dad, or mention it. Instead, he pulled his phone out of his pocket.

His dad picked up on the fifth ring, sounding harassed and tired. “Hello?”

“Dad, do you not ever check the caller ID?”

“Stiles,” his dad said, sounding considerably more cheerful this time. “Sorry, kid, but I just got off an important call. I can’t talk long. I’ll call you back after?”

“Just a second, I wanted to ask you something quick,” Stiles said. Isaac and Scott gave him twin looks of confusion. “Is it okay if I have a friend stay with us for break?”

Stiles’ father was quiet for a moment. “Boyfriend or girlfriend?” He guessed.

Stiles felt himself redden. “Uh, no, Scott’s roommate, actually. Isaac Lahey? He went to school with--,”

“I know who he is.” His dad said, his voice sounding rougher, almost angry. “You tell that boy he’s welcome at our home whenever he wants.”

Stiles realized that his father might know more about Isaac’s past then he did. “Right, I’ll see you in a week then. Love you.”

“Love you to, kid.” His dad said before hanging up.

“So, if you want, you can stay at my place for Christmas.” Stiles told Isaac. “My dad’s fine with it, and we have a guest bedroom. It’s not, like, great or anything, but it’s better than staying alone in the dorm.”

Isaac looked hesitant. “I don’t want to bother you guys. I‘m fine here.”

“Let me rephrase that: I will tie you up and put you in the back of my jeep and take you to my house.”

Isaac laughed and shook his head. “Okay, fine, if the alternative if kidnapping, I’ll willingly come.”

“So you might want to warn your mom she’s having an extra guest at Christmas dinner, too,” Stiles added to Scott.

For the past five years Stiles had spent Christmas day at Scott’s, after waking up and opening his presents, of course. Scott’s mom made dinner, he and his dad went over around noon to help, and he and Scott spent most of the day just lounging on the couch or playing whatever new video game they’d gotten that year. Now, they’d probably do the same, just with an added player.

“Yeah, okay.” Scott said quietly, looking at his hands in his lap. Stiles didn’t even think to wonder how Scott would feel about him just inviting Isaac into their Christmas tradition. Then, he decided that if Scott was actually going to be upset about it, Stiles would just slap him again, because no one deserved to spend Christmas alone.

\--

There was no heartfelt goodbye with Derek. Stiles called him the night before he, Scott and Isaac left, saying goodbye. Derek had just grunted, mostly, and told Stiles to call him when he got home, or just come over.

Stiles could admit, at least to himself, that he was going to miss Derek. But it was a week. Actually, now that he thought about it, it was pretty pathetic that he was going to miss someone he was only separated for a week from, someone who wasn’t his friend, or his boyfriend. Just a--… Derek. There was no other definition for it.

He told Derek to tell Laura merry Christmas from him, and the hung up before he said something stupid, or emotional, or stupidly emotional.

He wondered, a little late, if he should have gotten Derek a gift. But Derek didn’t get him anything, so no, he shouldn’t have.

“I can’t wait to be back in my bed,” Scott sighed, throwing his bag into the back of the jeep. “And my own _room_.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow and Scott turned red. “Not that I don’t like sharing.” He added loud enough to make sure that Isaac, who was climbing into the back seat, heard. He didn’t comment, though.

“I don’t know,” Stiles disagreed. “I’m getting attached to my dorm room. Hell, I might even miss Jackson’s five AM workout routine.” He made a face. “Okay, that was going to far. But still. I like college.”

“And Derek.” Scott teased.

Stiles got into the drivers seat and busied himself with starting the car and putting it in park so he wouldn’t have to answer right away. “Not really.” Stiles lied, trying to said casual. “I mean, I’ll miss the blowjobs, sure, but Derek--,” he shrugged. “Why would I miss Derek?”

“Please don’t talk about blowjobs with me.” Scott pleaded, making a face at him.

“You asked.” Stiles pointed out.

“Not about your _physical_ relationship, dude, gross.”

“Well we don’t have any other kind of relationship.” Stiles said, pulling the jeep out of the parking lot and away from campus. He gave it a silent goodbye as it moved out of view.

Scott and Isaac both snorted at the same time and Stiles met Isaac’s eyes in the back seat. “What?” Isaac asked, grinning.

“No ganging up on me,” Stiles ordered. “Or I will turn this car around, brats.”

“Shut up, _dad_ ,” Scott shot at him.

“That’s it, you’re grounded, you little shit!” Stiles shouted, laughing.

“I hope you never have children.” Scott told him, before they both realized that Isaac was silent in the back seat, staring thoughtfully out the window.

Stiles bit his lip to keep in the apology that bubbled up inside of him. “Music, yeah?” He asked, reaching for the dial. Neither passenger stopped him, both of them seeming too lost in their own thoughts.

It was a six hour drive from the college back to Beacon Hills. Isaac passed out halfway there and Scott and Stiles spent most of the drive talking about unimportant things, or making fun of each other’s choice in music.

“I didn’t tell him,” said Scott suddenly, his expression changing from one of careless laughter to something serious. “About Allison. About _why_ … you know….”

Stiles raised his eyebrows. “You didn’t tell him? Isn’t he wondering why you’d cheat on your girlfriend with him?”

Scott squirmed uncomfortably. “I guess I figured he just assumed we broke up. We _did_ break up. Sort of? Ugh,” Scott looked out the window for a moment. “I can’t just tell him that I talked him into hooking up with me because I wanted to get back at Allison for cheating on me. I don’t-- I just can’t.”

Stiles let out a long suffering sigh. “How did I even let this happen?”

“’s not _your_ fault.” Scott said. “The blame’s all mine.”

“Yeah, but I mean, we both know you’re lost without my guidance.”

“You’re an ass sometimes, you know that?” Scott said, rolling his eyes.

“You love me.”

* * *

Isaac wasn’t eavesdropping. He wasn’t. He’d been sleeping one minute, and the next he woke up, his brain still fuzzy. He wanted to go back to sleep. The jeep wasn’t comfortable, really, to sleep in, but he’d always had a habit of passing out during long car trips.

So he had kept his eyes closed and tried to fall back asleep, listening to the soft music and Scott and Stiles talking about random stuff until Scott’s voice turned serious.

“--can’t just tell him that I talked him into hooking up with me because I wanted to get back at Allison for cheating on me. I don’t-- I just can’t.”

Isaac felt like he’d been punched in the gut. He wished he’d never woken up. Actually, he wished he would have gotten accepted into a college farther way. Wished he never roomed with Scott, never realized how amazing that kid who sat in the back of the room in his chemistry class was. Wished he’d never fallen in love with Scott and his stupid grin, or his laugh, or his eyes or the way he listened so intently to what Isaac said, or genuinely cared about people, cared about him.

God, he knew it didn’t mean anything. He knew even when they were doing it that it didn’t matter. He just-- he didn’t ever think that-- that it meant _that_ little. That Scott hadn’t even really wanted him. He just wanted anyone, to get back at Allison. That it could have been some random guy, or girl, who Scott didn’t even know. That the only reason Scott even kissed him, touched him, was because he was conveniently there.

And that hurt. And again, he was wishing for things he couldn’t have. Wished he never convinced himself that Scott at least wanted him physically, if not for more than that. Wished he didn’t give a shit either way.

But he did. And he was an idiot, because he knew from experience that those you loved hurt you the most. Scott was just further proof of that, further proof that the wounds of those closest to you were the ones that never really healed.

Eventually Isaac fell back asleep, this time not waking up until they pulled into the driveway at Stiles’ house and Stiles shook him awake, grinning, like there was something to be happy about.

* * *

Stiles dad raised an eyebrow at the two of them when they walked into the house. “What?” Stiles demanded, raising his own eyebrows in retaliation.

“Didn’t even carry his bags?” His dad asked. “He’s a guest.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Isaac’s fully capable of carrying his own bags. In fact, I think he’s probably more capable than I am. Look at the muscle definition.” He said, poking Isaac’s arm.

Isaac grinned awkwardly. “Uh, hi, Mr. Stilinski.”

“Call me John or call me sheriff.” Stiles’ dad said, extending his hand. Isaac shook it once before Stiles rescued him from the awkwardness.

“We’re bringing our stuff upstairs,” he said quickly, hauling his bag over his shoulder. “Be back down in, like, ten minutes.”

His dad nodded and probably went back to watching a football game, if the cheers coming from the television were any indication.

“Right, so,” Stiles nodded to the room his dad just disappeared into. “Livingroom,” he said, and then pointed down the hall. “Kitchen and dinning room are through there.” He started up the stairs, Isaac following behind him. “My dad’s room is the first door on the left, bathroom is the second.” He explained. “And then my bedroom,” he kicked open his door, and almost smiled lovingly at his room, which was still the mess he’d left it in. “And then yours.”

The guest bedroom wasn’t special. It was just a pretty much empty bedroom with a bed, a dresser, and a side table. There were two paintings on the walls, ones that used to decorate his parents room, before his mom-- before. His dad couldn’t stand them in his room after, or so Stiles guessed. They didn’t talk about it.

“My dad’s not here, like, seventy percent of the time, so don’t feel weird about getting up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom or eat or whatever. And help yourself to whatever’s in the kitchen whenever.”

Isaac nodded. Stiles noted that something was wrong with Isaac, but he couldn’t figure out what. He was quiet, and his eyes had been permanently downcast, except when they were talking to his dad.

“Thanks,” he said sincerely, meeting Stiles’ eyes. “Really, just -- thank you.”

Stiles shrugged and grinned. “No problem, dude,” he said, clapping him on the back the way he would Scott. “I’m gonna go put my stuff away. Just come into my room when you’re done.”

Ah, his room. There was clothing all over the floor from his hasty packing. He’d kind of left it to last minute, because he was an idiot. There was an empty soda can on the night stand, and he could just see his secret stash of junk food poking out from under the bed. He threw his bag on the floor and didn’t even bother unpacking before flopping onto the bed, the only thing in the room that wasn’t a mess. He’d made it before he left.

He could hear Isaac opening the drawers in the next room. It was kind of odd. No one had used that room in years. Whenever Scott stayed over, he just crashed on the couch, or on Stiles’ bedroom floor, or even occasionally his bed, though the two of them hadn’t really fit on it since the sixth grade.

A few minutes later there was a knock on his open door and Stiles sat up. “So much for unpacking.” Isaac commented, giving his bag at the end of the bed a pointed look.

“My baby missed me,” Stiles explained, patting his bed. “You can’t blame me for missing my own room.”

Isaac crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re right, I can’t.”

\--

Three nights. That’s how long it lasted before Stiles caved and called Derek. Yeah, it was sad. He was _aware_ of that, thanks. Didn’t matter.

Derek didn’t seem to mind, apparently. He answered and they talked. Stiles laid in his bed, trying to keep his voice low. He didn’t want Isaac to hear him, to know what he was doing. Isaac might jump to conclusions, might think that it _meant_ something, and it so didn’t.

Ah, denial. So blissful.

“Maybe we should get you a plant.” Stiles continued, grinning. “I mean, seriously, Derek, your apartment is practically barren.”

“Don’t make fun of my apartment.” Derek said automatically.

“Or what?” Stiles taunted. “Last time I checked it takes six hours for you to get from there to Beacon Hills. I’m pretty sure I can make fun of you all I want and you can’t do a thing about it.”

Derek inhaled sharply. “What did you say?”

“I _said_ , you can’t do a thing about it.”

“No-- where are you?”

Stiles frowned. “Uh, my bed? Dude, if you want to have phone sex, that’s fine, but my dad is down the hall and that’s kind of--,”

“What t _own_.” Derek snapped.

“Beacon Hills.” Stiles sat up a bit, confused. “Why?”

Derek made a sound on the other end of the line. “I’ve got to go.” He said quickly, and then the line went dead.

Stiles stared at the phone for a minute, wondering what the actual fuck just happened.

* * *

 

Derek laid still in the hotel bed. Stiles’ words kept echoing in his mind. Had Stiles mentioned it before, and maybe Derek didn’t remember? Had he ever said where he came from?

No, Derek was positive he hadn’t. And he knew he’d never mentioned to Stiles where he came from, either.

How far away was he, Derek wondered. He could be just down the street, for all Derek knew. Well, no, chances are he wasn’t. There weren’t many houses out at this part of town. Stiles was probably living closer to the high school.

God, how had he not realized? How many times had he walked by Stiles when he was younger, unrecognizably so, or his parents? And how likely was it that Stiles knew about his past? Maybe not that it was _his_ past, but he must-- everyone knew about it. The Hale house fire was common knowledge around town.

And what were the freaking chances that Derek would even be in Beacon Hills at the same time as Stiles? If it wasn’t for those stupid people wanting to buy his old house, he wouldn’t be there. Laura wouldn’t have dragged him back to this place, so filled with memories.

He thought the break would be good for them. Derek felt himself getting too close to Stiles. But he couldn’t escape him, apparently. Not even in Beacon Hills.

* * *

 

“So, tell me about school.” His dad ordered, sitting down across from him.

It was their first actual sit down dinner since they’d gotten there. Stiles shrugged. “It’s school.”

His dad grinned at that. “You making any new friends?”

Stiles gestured at Isaac, sitting next to him. His dad rolled his eyes. “I didn’t mean that kind of friend.”

“Oh,” Stiles felt his cheeks redden and he looked down. “No.”

Isaac chuckled beside him and Stiles opened his mouth to tell him no, please don’t, but he was too late. “His name’s Derek Hale.” Isaac supplied completely unhelpfully.

His dad’s eyebrows raised in amused surprised before a frown replaced the look. “Derek Hale?” he repeated, looking at Stiles. “He got a sister? Laurie, or Lauren, or--,”

“Laura.” Stiles’ mind whirled, trying to figure out how the hell he knew that. He couldn’t. “How did you know that?” He asked, setting his fork down on the table.

His dad shifted uncomfortably. “If he didn’t tell you I don’t have a right to.”

Stiles blinked at him. “Dad, come on.”

Isaac was silently watching, eyes flicking between Stiles and his dad, looking like he felt bad for bringing up Derek now.

“You remember, it was years ago, you were still a kid, but there was a fire at the house off of Charleston road?” His dad asked finally, looking tired.

Stiles nodded. He did, vaguely. “Sort of?”

“It killed multiple people. The entire family living in that house, and it was a big house. The two teenagers, though, they weren’t there.” His dad explained. “I can’t remember why, it was too long ago. But -- I’ve never seen such a broken kid in my life, to be honest. Something like that-- to loose everyone….”

Stiles felt his stomach sink. Suddenly all the food on his plate looked unappetizing and he couldn’t figure out how, just minutes ago, he’d actually been _eating_ it.

“I’m going to go upstairs.” Stiles said suddenly, pushing away from the table.

His dad and Isaac both watched him with concerned eyes, but neither made a move to stop or follow him.

Stiles sat on his bed and called Derek for the second time since he’d been gone. This time, he didn’t lay down, or smile to himself. He sat perched on the edge of his bed, staring blankly at the wall.

“Stiles,” Derek said when he answered.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Stiles demanded. “Yesterday, when I told you where I lived. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Derek was silent on the other end of the line.

“I mean, I get it, we’re not-- this isn’t supposed to be that. It isn’t supposed to matter, or I’m not supposed to care, or whatever bullshit I’ve been telling myself, but I do.” His eyes narrowed. “You couldn’t have mentioned, maybe, that we came from the same town? That--,”

“That what?” Derek demanded. “That my entire family died in the same town you grew up in?”

Stiles sucked in a breath. “Derek--,”

“Just drop it, Stiles. If I wanted you to know, I would have told you.”

“Liar.” Stiles said, calling him out. “You wouldn’t have, even if you wanted me to, because you’ve got these freaking walls built up so high and you think that-- what? If you let them down for five seconds everything will come crashing down around you? Or that I’ll treat you differently? That it’ll make you weak?” Stiles shot at him. “Well, newsflash, Derek, if you keep shit bottled up like that, you’re going to explode!”

“I didn’t think you’d care.” Derek said roughly.

Stiles laughed. “Right, yeah, I mean, it’s not like I spend almost every day with you. It’s not like I practically lost my freaking virginity to you, or anything.” Stiles snorted. “You’re right, Derek, I don’t care.”

“Stiles.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry.” Derek said, and Stiles instantly felt bad.

He shouldn’t have flipped on Derek. He knew that. He was in the wrong here. What gave him the right to know that sort of information about someone else? And then afterwards to yell at them for not telling you about it?

“I’m an asshole.” Stiles said suddenly, sighing loudly. “God, Derek, I’m sorry.”

Derek made a grunting sound but didn’t speak.

“I guess I just-- I wished you would have told me. I wished you would have trusted me enough to share something like that with me. Jesus, I thought your parents were alive. You didn’t correct me when I asked if they lived in the city or not.”

“Where are you?” Derek asked suddenly, cutting him off, which was probably a good thing.

“Like, in general, or the actual address?”

“Address.”

Stiles quickly rattled off his street and house number. “Why?”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes. Be out front.” Derek said before hanging up.

It was like the roll reversal of their first date. This time, it was Derek telling him to wait outside, not waiting for an answer. And Stiles would be out there when he pulled up.

\--

“You drive a camaro?” Was the first thing Stiles said when the car pulled up in front of his house, window down to reveal Derek inside. Derek made an annoyed face at him. “What? I’ve never seen your car before.”

Stiles slid into the passenger seat, trying not to give the car an envious look but failing. It was awesome, okay? And it made his jeep look like a piece of crap. Actually, Stiles decided, it was kind of like him and Derek. Derek was all flashy and gorgeous and Stiles was less desirable but sturdy and reliable.

“I really am sorry for yelling at you.” Stiles said quietly as he put on his seat belt.

Derek’s eyes darted to his for only a moment. “You’re not going to ask why I’m even in town?”

Stiles shrugged. “I figured you’d explain it eventually.”

Derek nodded and put the car in drive, pulling away from Stiles’ house. “I didn’t tell you because I don’t talk about it.” Derek said as they drove.

“Ever?” Stiles asked, mouth gaping open.

Derek shifted uncomfortably. “No.”

Stiles went to put a hand on Derek’s thigh but hesitated. Then he figured, fuck it, and did it anyways. Derek didn’t throw him off.

“You know I’m not ever going to judge you, right, if you talk to me? Or treat you differently, if you don’t want me to.”

Derek raised an eyebrow. “Why would I? It’s not like we’re dating.”

Stiles felt the sting of those words but didn’t let them stop him. In fact, he let the anger they caused fuel him. “Yeah, you’re right. We’re not dating. We’re both too afraid to admit that we want something more, so we haven’t crossed that line.”

Derek didn’t look at him. “I don’t want something more.”

Stiles made a disbelieving sound. “If that were true I wouldn’t be in your car right now.”

He noticed the way Derek’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel, fingers turning white. “Or maybe you’re here because I’m calling things off.”

Stiles whipped his head around to face Derek again. “If that’s what you want, then fine.”

It wasn’t fine. Not at all. But if that’s what Derek wanted, then it would have to be.

“It’s not.” Derek admitted. “It should be. This isn’t-- we’re not good, Stiles. I haven’t had a relationship since-- in a long time. I don’t like caring for people.”

“I’ve noticed.” Stiles raised his eyebrows and let the words sink in. “So does that mean you care about me?”

“I don’t want to.”

“That’s not a no.” Stiles pointed out. He could feel a smile creeping onto his face.

“It’s not a yes.” Derek countered.

Stiles had been paying too much attention to the conversation to notice where they were until Derek put the car in park and turned it off.

He recognized this place from the many times he and Scott had went hiking in the woods. They weren’t far from town, only five minutes away from it, really. There was a trail, just ahead of them. They were parked in an empty lot with a sign that prohibited anyone from parking their after eight. His dad occasionally did rounds in this area, would drive around to make sure no one was doing exactly what Stiles and Derek were doing right now.

“You don’t have to.” Stiles said when Derek finally met his eyes. “Say yes, I mean. If you’re still-- if you need to think about it.”

He wasn’t expecting Derek to lean over the space between their seats, moving faster than Stiles could comprehend. He didn’t expect the press of their lips, the way Derek gently held his face in his large hands. Just as quickly as it started, though, the kiss ended.

“What was that?” Stiles asked, trying to think despite the fact that his lips were tingling and he wanted more.

“That was me saying maybe.”

Stiles felt his body go warm and his grin spread across his face. “I think I’d like a bit more 'maybe', thank you.”

Derek rolled his eyes but complied, this time pulling Stiles towards him.


	11. Chapter 11

It was weird to sleep in his own bed again, Scott thought, rolling onto his side. The house was quiet, his mom had went to sleep hours ago.

He didn’t want to admit it, but what he was missing wasn’t his room back to school, or his bed. It was the sound of Isaac a few feet away, snoring or breathing heavily. He’d gotten used to the sounds he made when he slept, and now he couldn’t fall asleep without them.

He rolled over again and grabbed his phone, flicking through his apps for something to do. He was just about to put it down when it vibrated in his hands.

_Hey-- Allison_

Scott stared at the screen. He hadn’t talked to Allison since the day after he found out that she--, Scott sighed. After she cheated on him.

It was over a month late and it still hurt. He didn’t like to think about it, or about his actions afterwards. He knew that what he did had taken a strain on his relationship with Isaac. He’d lost two important people to him that night, and he hated that.

_Hey_ , he sent back, because he couldn’t help himself.

_You at home?-- Allison_

Scott blinked at the screen. Were they really going to act like nothing happened?

_Yeah, what about you?_ He asked, playing along, for now.

_Yeah. Can we talk?-- Allison_

_Isn’t that what we’re doing right now?_ He asked, waiting for her reply. That wasn’t what she meant and he knew it.

_In person. Tomorrow? -- Allison._

Scott blinked. Stiles and his dad and Isaac were coming over tomorrow. He should say no. Did he really want to see her, anyways?

_Okay._ He sent back before he could help himself. He shouldn’t have, and he wanted to take the text back as soon as it was out, but he couldn’t.

He was just going to have to wait and see how that played out. Hopefully it wouldn’t make things worse.

* * *

 

“I love hotel rooms.” Laura commented, flopping onto her bed like a kid. “You can make as much of a mess as you want, and you don’t ever have to clean it.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Glad I don’t have to share a room with you.”

Laura made a face at him. “Merry Christmas to you, too, Derek.”

“We’re not celebrating Christmas.” Derek pointed out, forking up a bite of breakfast. Room service there wasn’t the best, and the food was a bit cold, but it tasted good.

He wasn’t paying attention and something hit him hard on the side of his face. A potato. Laura was a child, sometimes. “Well, maybe _you’re_ not. But you better have gotten me a present, or so help me, Derek.”

Derek sighed and tossed the bag at her. She gleefully opened it, pulling out the shirt he’d gotten for her. The sales woman had said it was the nicest piece they had. It better have been, the price he paid for it.

“I love it!” Laura told him. “Open yours.”

Derek ripped open the package. Once it was open, he just stared at the item inside. He couldn’t breath. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t do anything but stare at it.

“Thought you’d like it.” Laura said, her voice wavering slightly. “If you don’t, I can take it back. Or throw it out.” She stood up suddenly and pulled the box from his fingers. He hadn’t even noticed his nails had turned into claws. “Throwing it out right now.” She said frantically.

Derek stood up and grabbed it from her. “I want it.” He said when she wouldn’t hand it over.

“You’re sure?” She questioned, letting the box slip out of her fingers.

No, he wasn’t. He wanted to throw it at the wall. But the look on Laura’s face was enough to make him at least hold on to it, for her sake.

The figurine was small, barely the size of his fist. It was the carving of a wolf with the Hale crest on it. He’d gotten an identical one when he was six years old. It used to sit on his side table in his old room.

“Merry Christmas, Derek.” Laura said again, this time hugging him.

“Merry Christmas.” He said back this time.

* * *

 

Stiles missed the cruiser. It was nice to be back in it, even if it meant his dad driving them to Scott’s instead of him taking his jeep. He had a lot of memories in the cruiser, like that time he’d snuck into the back seat when his dad went on a call because he said Stiles couldn’t come. Or when Scott’s mom convinced Stiles’ dad to arrest her son once (not, you know, for _real_ ), to teach him a lesson. Scott had cried. Stiles still held that over his head sometimes.

“What did you get him?” Stiles asked suddenly, turning around to face Isaac, who was sitting quietly in the back seat.

“Um,” Isaac held up the gift bag in his hand. “I got him a thing of personalized guitar picks.” He said, eyes wide. “Scott said that he-- he mentioned playing, but he forgot to pack his guitar, so I thought--,”

“Damn it,” Stiles slid back in his seat. “That is so much better than what I got him.”

Isaac let out a sigh of relief. “So you think he’ll like it?”

Stiles nodded. “Definitely. Way more than the socks and gift card I got him.” He grinned and turned back to Isaac. “So what did you get me?”

Isaac snorted. “Nothing.”

“You better be lying or I’m keeping your socks.”

\--

  
When they pulled up in front of Scott’s house, he noticed that something was wrong. There were two extra cars in the lot. One, he didn’t recognize. The second, he knew, belonged to Allison’s dad.

He hadn’t considered Allison coming to talk to Scott _today._ Not with Isaac there.

Scott told him that Isaac said that what happened between them had been nothing. Even when Stiles asked him about it, Isaac just said that he guessed he didn’t really like Scott as much as he thought he did. Not like that, anyways.

Stiles figured they were both full of shit, but he really didn’t want to have that proven to him by seeing Isaac’s reaction to Allison and Scott together.

“Dude!” Scott ran out of the house as Stiles’ dad parked the car out front. “You’ll never guess what my mom got me.”

Stiles pushed open the door, grabbing the bag of presents. Isaac followed behind him, carrying his own and looking awkward.

“What?” Stiles asked. “Because I guarantee it’s not better than the wall mountable TV my dad got me for my room.”

Scott faltered but then he was grinning again. “Better.” He said, pointing at the oldest car in the driveway. “She got it put into my name, and I can take it back to school with me and everything!”

“Okay, you win.” Stiles agreed, eyes wide. “Wow, man, congrats.”

Scott was bouncing on his toes. He looked between Isaac and Stiles. “Want to go for a ride?”

Stiles laughed. “Scott, I’ve been in that car hundreds of times.” He pointed out.

“Yeah, but that was when it belonged to my mom. Now it’s mine.” Scott explained.

“Where’s Allison?” Stiles asked to deter him. He could faintly smell apple pie from the house and he just wanted to get inside.

Isaac’s head jerked up and Stiles remembered why he was upset that Allison was here. Right, Isaac.

Scott looked at the ground for a second. “Uh, she’s inside with my mom.”

“Is she staying?” Stiles asked, praying that she wasn’t. As much as he liked Allison, he didn’t want his delicious Christmas dinner to be ruined by the awkward that would fill the room with everyone there.

“Get inside,” a female voice called from the doorway.

Stiles looked up to see Melissa smiling at them, a hand on her hip.

Isaac was the last in the door. He paused in front of Melissa and produced a bouquet of flowers. Stiles had no idea where he got those from. They looked fresh, and nothing was open today.

“Thank you for having me for dinner.” Isaac said, handing her the flowers.

Scott’s mom actually blushed. “I like this one,” she said before turning to Stiles. “You, not so much.”

Stiles grinned and hugged her. “I missed you, too.”

“I’m heading out.” Allison’s voice said. Stiles didn’t notice her come into the hallway. “Hey, Stiles. Nice to see you again, Mrs. McCall.” She added, grabbing her coat off the rack. She paused to kiss Scott, who stood there, completely unmoving. “Isaac,” she said, and if her smile seemed a bit more frosty with him, no one reacted.

“Goodbye, Allison.” Melissa said. The words lacked the usual warmth Melissa usually held for Allison, but she didn’t look upset. Just indifferent. Scott must have told her what happened.

Allison seemed to realize the same thing and her cheeks burned red as she left.

“What the hell was that?” Stiles demanded the second she was gone.

Scott shifted uncomfortable. “I’m going to go put these in water.” Melissa said. “And to see what your father got me.” She added with a wink to Stiles.

“Are you two back together?” Stiles asked, following Scott as he headed into the living room.

“No,” Scott said quickly. He turned, looking guilty. “Okay, maybe?”

Scott’s eyes flicked to Isaac, who had a blank expression on his face. “This conversation is so not over.” Stiles said, but he would drop it, for now.

Scott grabbed two wrapped presents off the table and passed one to Stiles and one to Isaac. “Here,” he said, shrugging. “I didn’t know what to get you guys so, yeah.”

Stiles unwrapped his gift quickly, not caring about the paper falling to the ground. “Seriously?” He asked, holding the package up to Scott. “You’re brilliant.”

It was a pair of earplugs, guaranteed to keep out even the loudest of sounds. “Jackson replaced the Nicki Minaj CD, so I figured you’d need them. Though she‘s really not that bad, if you give her a chance.”

Stiles watched Isaac unwrap his present next. “Not fair,” Stiles said instantly. “That cost way more than earplugs!”

Scott ignored him. “You told me that you read all of them all in the library at school, so I thought-- maybe you’d want to own them.” Scott smiled hesitantly.

Isaac looked down at the Lord of the Rings boxset in his hand and smiled. “Thanks.” He handed the gift bag in his hand over to Scott, and gave Stiles his present to. “I hope they’re okay.”

Stiles opened the box. Inside was a plethora of inappropriate bumper stickers, like the one on his dashboard. “Awesome!” He said, and he meant it. “Does everyone have great gift ideas but me?”

Of course, Scott and Isaac were both ignoring him. Isaac was watching Scott, who was staring down at the guitar picks Isaac got him. “These are great.” Scott said quietly. “Really. Thanks.”

Isaac just nodded.

Stiles threw their gifts at them, hoping to pull them out of what ever funk they’d both just dived into. “They’re gift cards.” Stiles explained. “And socks. Everyone needs socks.”

Isaac laughed and pocketed his walmart gift card. Stiles couldn’t think of anywhere more specific, so it was the best he could do. Scott’s, on the other hand, was for Game Shop.

“So,” Scott nodded a the TV. “Want to play Halo?”

The three of them set themselves up in front of the TV, Isaac and Scott on the couch -- “He’s a guest, he better not be on the floor.” Melissa had said when she’d walked in on them-- and Stiles, unfortunately, had been relocated to the floor in Isaac’s place.

Isaac was _terrible_ at Halo. Like, possibly the worst player Stiles had ever met. “I’ve never played before.” He said, frowning down at the controller. “I just--,”

Scott sighed loudly and leaned over. Stiles turned around to watch them with an amused expression on his face as Scott grabbed Isaac’s fingers and rearranged them on the controller. “You need these ones up here, to shoot.” Scott explained.

When he met Stiles’ eyes, his cheeks went red and he sat back against the couch quickly. Stiles snorted loudly. Isaac took the opportunity to shoot both of them in the head.

“I think I’m getting the hang of this.” He said.

An hour later, Isaac had only managed to kill Scott and Stiles twice more. At first, he was agitated and annoyed, but eventually he just started laughing at how bad he was, and Scott and Stiles couldn’t help but join him. It was almost easy, at that moment, to forget the awkwardness that had settled between the three of them. Or, really, the two of them.

“Dinner’s ready,” Melissa called from the kitchen. “Come get it or starve!”

Stiles sat up quickly and shut off the x-box. “You only did that because I was winning.” Scott said, grinning as he sat up and stretched.

“No, I did that because I’m hungry.” Stiles lied.

Scott rolled his eyes as they headed into the kitchen, Isaac just behind them. There were six chairs at the table, and Stiles instantly sat down on the one closest to the gravy, because he knew his dad, and he knew to get to the gravy first, if you wanted there to be any left. His father sat on his left, and Melissa sat at the head of the table. That left Isaac and Scott to sit beside each other on the opposite side of the table from Stiles. They both seemed to realize this at the same time, and Stiles would have laughed at the expressions on their faces if it wasn’t so tragic. Why did his friends have to suck so much?

“Sorry,” Isaac said when he bumped his shoulder into Scott’s while pulling out his chair.

“That was my fault.” Scott replied quickly.

Stiles wasn’t the only one who noticed this, apparently, judging by the confused look on Melissa’s face. His father, of course, noticed nothing but the turkey.

Stiles reached for the mashed potatoes but Melissa pierced him with a glare and he let his hand fall back to the table. He rolled his eyes. “I’m thankful for family, good health, and this turkey that you’re going to let me eat in about two minutes.” Stiles rambled off. “Good?”

Melissa snorted but nodded. “I’m thankful for my handsome son, this beautiful dinner,” she reached over and squeezed Stiles’ dad’s hand, but she didn’t say anything about him, and Stiles was kind of grateful. He wanted to be able to stomach Christmas dinner by the time they got to it. “And I’m glad that you two aren’t trashing my living room every weekend anymore.”

Scott looked sheepish but Stiles just grinned. “I’m thankful for family and friends.” His father said briskly. Stiles dropped his eyes to his plate for a moment, until Scott spoke up.

“I’m thankful for you guys.” he said, a serious look on his face. “And--,” his eyes cut to Isaac, and then he dropped them to his plate the way Stiles had just moments before. “Stuff.”

Melissa rolled her eyes. “You’re thankful for ‘stuff’.” Scott just nodded. Melissa ignored her son and turned to Isaac. “Anything you’re thankful for, Isaac?”

“Um,” he looked like a deer caught in headlights. “I’m thankful that you guys let me stay here, and intrude on your dinner.”

“You’re not intruding,” Melissa assured him.

“Can we eat now?” Stiles demanded before Scott, who was still looking down awkwardly at his plate, had an aneurism.

“We can eat.” Melissa agreed.

Stiles piled food onto his plate, and then started eating right away. One thing he would never get used to was living off microwaved food while at college. It never compared to real, home cooking.

“So,” Melissa said after the initial passing of food stopped. “I hear you have a boyfriend.”

Stiles nearly choked on his food. He turned to his father, mouth open. His dad just shrugged. “He’s not my boyfriend.” Stiles corrected. “Not yet, at least, maybe.” He admitted, cheeks burning, remembering the scene in Derek’s car.

“Well good for you.” Melissa said, looking genuinely happy for him. She turned to her son next, opened her mouth, and then closed it. They could all feel it though, hanging in the room, almost palpable. Scott and Allison.

Scott looked determined to eat without ever looking up again, and Isaac shifted in his chair, looking uncomfortable.

“What about you, Isaac?” Melissa asked, probably trying to make the situation less awkward, but without knowing it she was probably making it worse. “You have anyone special in your life?”

“I--,” Isaac looked to Stiles and then back to Melissa and Stiles wouldn’t be surprised if someone suddenly started crying. “Not really.” He said finally.

“Ah, well,” Melissa shrugged. “One day. Or not. Everybody doesn’t have to be in a relationship to be happy.”

“Right.” Isaac nodded.

Stiles was grateful that the food was so good, because the rest of the dinner was definitely uncomfortable. At the end, before they left, his dad kissed Melissa straight on the mouth, and Stiles was too distracted by everything else to even react.

“Thanks for dinner.” He called as they left.

“Thank you.” Isaac chimed in.

“Well, that was nice, don’t you think?” His father said as they drove home. Stiles just snorted.

\--

They had two more days of holiday before they had to go back to school. Stiles didn’t talk to Derek again during that time. He was going to call him, but for some reason he felt like he wanted their next conversation to be in person. Derek didn’t call him, either, so he must have felt the same way. Or he was having second thoughts about what he’d said in the car.

“Scott’s driving back himself,” Stiles said to Isaac when they started packing their stuff back up to head home. “He told me that if you want you can drive back with him.”

Isaac shook his head. “I’ll drive with you, if that’s okay.”

Stiles shrugged. “Sure.”

“I kind of wanted to ask you something, actually.” Isaac said, walking farther into Stiles’ room. He examined the books on Stiles’ shelf while Stiles waited for him to sort through his thoughts. “I already talked to Jackson,” he said finally, turning around to face Stiles. He had his arms crossed over his stomach. “He said that it’s up to you, but I wanted to know if-- if you’d switch rooms with me.”

Stiles froze. He wasn’t expecting that. “Did you tell Scott you wanted to switch rooms?”

Isaac looked at the wall behind Stiles’ head and sighed. “No, but I don’t think he’ll mind. In case you haven’t noticed, things have been kind of… off. With us. And I think it’d just be easier if I switched rooms.”

Under any other circumstances, Stiles would have jumped at the opportunity to finally room with anyone other than Jackson. Now, though, he wasn’t so sure if he was elated or upset. “You’re still friends,” Stiles felt compelled to point out. “Are you sure?”

Isaac nodded. “It’ll be easier.”

“Is this because -- you know-- the _thing_ that happened on Halloween?”

Isaac laughed and shrugged casually. “No, it’s not. I just think it’d be better for everyone involved.”

Stiles could tell he was lying, or at least withholding the truth. But if Isaac really wanted to, if he’d be happier… “Okay.” Stiles agreed. “But I’m not telling Scott . You can deal with that one.”

Isaac nodded again. “I’m sure he’ll be relieved.”

Stiles didn’t believe that, but he didn’t say anything.

\--

“Call me more often.” His dad said, giving him a brief hug. “And it was nice to meet you, Isaac. Make sure this one doesn’t live off pizza pockets.”

“Me?” Stiles raised an eyebrow. “Don’t think I didn’t notice the take out bags in the garbage.”

“I got a salad.” His dad said, putting a hand on his hip.

“Liar.” Stiles sighed fondly. “Seriously, just don’t eat too much of that stuff. I know Melissa makes you dinner.”

“I can cook for myself.” His dad said defiantly.

Stiles snorted. “I know. Love you.” He said, hugging him one more time.

It was both harder and easier to leave home this time. Harder, because now he knew what he was going back to. But that was also why it was easier. He had something to look forward to when he got back to school. Maybe.

“Nice to meet you, too.” Isaac added. “And thanks again for letting me stay.”

“Any time.” His dad said sincerely. “Don’t drive like an idiot.” His dad said at last to Stiles, his equivalent of ‘drive safely’.

“You should be saying that to Scott.” Stiles muttered, grabbing his bags off the floor. “I’ll call you when I get back to the dorm.”

He and Isaac left, his dad closing the door behind them.

“Your dad’s great.” Isaac commented as they tossed their bags carelessly in the backseat.

Stiles grinned. “Yeah, he is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just going to say it. Cling to this chapter guys. Because the next one? It's not ending in happy Stilinski feels and Halo playing. It's-- well, I'm not going to spoil it for you guys, but Scott and Stiles are both idiots.


	12. Chapter 12

When Stiles and Isaac arrived back at school, Stiles decided he wasn’t ready to deal with whatever blow out would result from Isaac and Stiles switching rooms. That was between Isaac and Scott, and he really didn’t want to be there to witness it.

Stiles dropped Isaac of and headed to Derek’s. He considered calling first, but he didn’t want to give Derek a chance to tell him he couldn’t come over. He’d learned, in the short time since he’d known him, that it was best to just thrust yourself upon Derek.

He could hear the TV on when he knocked on the door and let out a sigh of relief. He hadn’t even considered the fact that maybe Derek wasn’t back from Beacon Hills yet.

“Come in!” A female voice called, and Stiles froze for a second before he clued in to who it was.

Stiles pushed open the door. Laura was sitting on the counter, eating ice cream out of a carton. “Hey,” she said easily, sliding off the counter. “Stiles.”

Stiles swallowed. Laura may have been the one to give Stiles Derek’s number, but he wasn’t sure how much she knew about their relationship. Or current lack there of. “Hi, is Derek home?”

Laura dug her spoon into the ice cream. “He’s going for a run. Should be home soon. You can wait here, if you want.”

Stiles nodded. “Sure,” he said, walking farther into the apartment. He felt awkward, for some reason. Like Laura knew every detail and was silently judging him for it.

“Want some ice cream?” She asked suddenly, smiling.

“Uh,” Stiles looked at the carton. Mint chocolate chip was his favourite. “Okay.”

She grabbed a bowl out of the cupboard. “Just don’t tell Derek,” she said, getting a fresh spoon to scoop ice cream into the bowl. When she was done, she slid it across the counter and Stiles grabbed the bowl. “He hates when I come over and steal his ice cream.”

Stiles laughed. “Of course he does.”

Laura smiled at him as they ate in silence for a few moments. “He likes you, you know.” She said finally.

Stiles almost choked on his bite of ice cream. “Uh, I hope so.” He said, feeling colour rise to his cheeks.

“No, he does.” Laura assured him. “That doesn’t really happen. Derek doesn’t like people, you know.”

“Yeah, you’ve both told me that, and no offence, but that’s not really a shocking revelation. I mean, it’s kind of obvious.” Stiles said, putting his spoon in his bowl. It wasn’t empty, but he didn’t feel like eating it anymore for some reason.

“No, I don’t mean he kind of dislikes people. I mean Derek _really_ doesn’t ever _like_ people. He hasn’t-- he hasn’t had a friend since everything happened with our family, Stiles. Or a girlfriend. Or boyfriend.”

Stiles gaped at her. “Ever?”

Laura shrugged, her easy smile long gone. She looked sad as she put the lid back on the ice cream. “Not one. Ever.” Laura confirmed. She tilted her head, examining him. “So just… be careful with him, okay? But don’t tell him I said that. He’d be pissed.”

Stiles laughed, but this time it was more of a bitter sound. “I really don’t think Derek’s going to be the one getting hurt in this relationship.” Stiles said quietly. “I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m pretty sure I like him a lot more than he likes me.” Stiles said, and he stopped, wondering why he was revealing all this to Derek’s sister, who he barely knew, who would probably go and replay every detail of this conversation to Derek afterwards.

“I really don’t believe that.” Laura said, eyes suddenly hard. “I know-- I don’t expect this thing to last, whatever it is you two are doing. You’re nineteen, Stiles, and I get that. The chances of you settling down with someone for the rest of your life at this age are slim to none. Just-- when it ends, don’t make it harder for him than it has to be.” She grinned then, but it was a feral look. “Because I can and will make your death look like an accident. I know guys.”

Stiles chuckled, but nervously. While the words were obviously a joke, but there was a seriousness underneath them. Laura may not be the large, muscular, intimidating person that Derek was, but Stiles definitely didn’t want to get on her bad side.

“I won’t.” He said, completely honestly.

Laura’s grin returned to the happy, easy smile that she had when he walked in. “Good, now I’m putting this ice cream away because Derek should be back any second now.” She said, quickly shoving the carton in the fridge. She grabbed Stiles’ bowl and tossed it in the sink just as Derek’s door opened.

He didn’t look surprised to find either of them there. “You’re replacing that carton.” He said to Laura. He turned to Stiles. “You’re back.”

“Yeah, uh, I didn’t really want to hang out at the dorm so I thought maybe I could hang out here. And we could talk about… that thing we were talking about last time…” He trailed off, eyes flitting to Laura.

Laura rolled her eyes. “Oh my god, if you want to have sex just tell me to get out.” She said, passing by Stiles and Derek towards the door. “It was nice to see you again, Stiles. Love you, Derek.” She added.

Stiles watched Derek, whose face went slightly red. “Love you, too.” He said, and Stiles stared at him, because hearing those words come out of Derek’s mouth was surprising.

Laura just smiled, content, and left, closing the door behind her. “That’s cute.” Stiles couldn’t help but comment when she was gone.

“Shut up,” Derek said, rolling his eyes the way Laura had just moments ago. Stiles hadn’t noticed the similarities in them before. Derek’s hair and skin tone was darker than Laura’s, and he was considerably taller than her. But the eyes were similar. “What are you doing here?” Derek asked, pulling him out of his thoughts.

“Uh, first of all, I really didn’t want to deal with the shit storm that is my best friends.” Stiles said, shrugging “And I wanted to… see you… if that’s alright. Is that-- am I allowed to want to see you now? I still don’t know exactly where we left things off, and --,”

Derek’s lips were on his, cutting off his words. Which was totally fine, by the way, because it wasn’t like he could form coherent thoughts right then anyways.

“You can want whatever you please,” Derek said, hands gripping Stiles’ waist. They were standing in the middle of the apartment, not exactly in the living room, not exactly in the kitchen. “But I’m glad you’re here.”

“Really?” Stiles smirked. “’Cause you missed me too, didn’t you?”

Derek sighed heavily, his breath playing against Stiles’ skin. He leaned his head into the crook of Stiles’ neck. “Maybe.” He admitted, staying there, just breathing him in.

Stiles grabbed the sides of Derek’s leather jacket and pushed at them, wanting it off. “Good.” He said, struggling. Derek pulled back and shucked off the jacket himself. “Good,” he repeated. “Because we should-- we really should talk. I wasn’t just trying to be vague in front of your sister.”

Derek looked resigned as he nodded for Stiles to go sit on the couch. He headed into the kitchen himself and started pulling things out of the fridge.

“Are you going to cook something?” Stiles asked, perking up as he watched Derek look.

“No, I’m painting a picture.” Derek said, looking down as he sliced through vegetable. “I’m hungry, and I don’t have anything premade, so--,” Derek shrugged.

“I didn’t know you could cook.” Stiles felt compelled to say. “I mean-- really?”

Derek looked up at him, knife in hand. “So?”

Stiles lifted his hands in defence. “Hey, woah, I totally believe in your cooking abilities.”

Derek made an annoyed sound and went back to cutting things before throwing them in a frying pan. “What do you want to talk about?” Derek asked when he was back was turned to Stiles.

“Um,” Stiles stood up, feeling awkward shouting it across the room. He took a step into the kitchen and Derek’s back tensed, but he didn’t turn. “You said you cared about me. Maybe.”

Derek didn’t turn. “Okay.” He said, and Stiles watched over his shoulder as Derek pushed the food in the frying pan around. It smelled good already. “And?”

“I just-- are we-- is this--,” Stiles swallowed thickly and tried again. “Are we dating?”

Derek turned then and leaned against the counter. His fingers were gripping the edge tightly. “Do you want us to be?”

Stiles laughed. “Uh, yeah? I mean, I haven’t really… dated anyone, like, ever, but if I-- I want to, if you do. Want me, I mean.” Stiles ran a hand through his short hair. He didn’t like feeling so uncertain. Stiles wasn’t good at hiding his emotions, unless he was really hurt. He liked to express himself. But with Derek he never knew where he stood, and he didn’t want to risk embarrassing himself by giving too much away.

“I want you.” Derek said, low and unabashed. “But I don’t--,” Derek suddenly looked just as uncertain as Stiles felt. “I don’t date. I haven’t in-- not in a long time. So I don’t know… what to do.”

Stiles grinned and stepped forward, putting his hands on the counter on either sides of Derek’s body. “Well, you could start by letting me stay over.” He said, pitching his voice lower than usual. “In the bed, this time.”

Derek chuckled. “I can do that.” He said, lifting his hands to put them around Stiles’ waist.

“And you could help me move my stuff to Scott’s room, cause Isaac wants to switch with me.” Stiles said the words the same way he did when he propositioned himself staying at Derek’s.

Derek quirked an eyebrow. “So that’s what dating entitles. Hard labour?”

Stiles pressed his body against Derek’s, carefully grinding his groin into Derek’s. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

Derek let his fingers slip into Stiles’ shirt, nails scraping at the skin of his stomach, and Stiles shuddered “I bet you will.” Derek said quietly, his lips turned up in a small smile.

\--

“It’s pretty much just a stand.” Stiles said, unlocking the door to his room. “And maybe a box. Or two.”

Stiles didn’t expect Jackson to be home. “You moving?” He asked, arching an eyebrow.

Stiles grinned. “Yep!”

Jackson rolled his eyes and eyed Derek behind him. “So this is Derek?” He asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Yes.” Stiles said stiffly. “Derek, my boyfriend.” He said, sneaking a quick glance at Derek to see how he felt about Stiles saying that. Boyfriend. He liked saying that. Liked saying that about Derek.

“Nice to meet you, man.” Jackson said, like he was a totally normal, totally not assholey roommate. He sat up and stretched his hand out to Derek, who took it mutely. “You know,” Jackson said, leaning back on his bed. “You really should be thanking me.”

Stiles looked up at him sharply, but he didn’t get to say anything before Derek did. “Thanking you?” He asked, looking like the perfect mix between amused, confused, and irritated. Stiles thought that was a look strictly for him, but apparently not.

“Yeah, you know,” Jackson shrugged. “I’m the one that proposed the bet to him.” He smirked. “So really, if it weren’t for me, you two wouldn’t even be together.”

Derek narrowed his eyes but didn’t say anything else to Jackson. “This shelf?” He asked, nodding his head at the structure on Stiles’ side of the room.

“Yeah,” Stiles quickly shoved everything off it. “Scott’s room is room 317. I already texted him, so just knock on the door or even walk in or whatever.”

Derek nodded, lifted the thing so easily that Stiles felt a pang of jealousy, and disappeared out the door. The second he was gone he turned to Jackson, furious.

“What the fuck was that?” He asked.

Jackson actually looked genuinely surprised. “What was what?”

“Brining up that shit about the bet!” He shouted. “God, do you even realize that--,” he shook his head. Of course he didn’t. This was Jackson. He didn’t give a shit if he fucked up anyone else’s life. “You know what? Forget about it. I’m so glad to be out of this room.” Stiles said, pushing all the stuff that was on his shelf into a bag.

Stiles went out the door, following the same path Derek had just taken.

Derek was already in Scott’s room. Scott was sitting on his bed, looking furious, but not talking. Isaac was nowhere to be seen. “What am I supposed to do with his stuff?” Stiles asked, noting the boxes and bags piled on Isaac’s bed.

“Burn them.” Scott snapped, getting out of bed. “Or move them to Jackson’s room for him. I don’t know.” He gave Stiles a helpless look and then turned to Derek. “Nice to meet you, dude. I’m going out. I’ll be bac later.” Scott said, disappearing out of the room.

Derek and Stiles grabbed Isaac’s bags and boxes on the way back to Stiles’ old room. It felt weird, thinking of it like that. It was no longer his and Jackson’s room. It was now Isaac and Jackson’s room.

Jackson was gone by the time they made it there, and Stiles put Isaac’s stuff neatly on the floor beside the bed before quickly gathering up the last of his.

When they got back to his new room, Derek locked the door behind them. Stiles raised an eyebrow in question but Derek just took the bags out of his hand, placed them on the door, and then gently but firmly pushed Stiles towards the bed.

Stiles grinned. “Scott shouldn’t be back for a while.” He said, falling on his back onto the bed.

Derek crawled on top of him. “Good.”

Derek’s lips were hard and firm pressing against Stiles’. His tongue pushed into Stiles’ mouth, brushing against his own with dominance. Stiles couldn’t help it, he moaned into Derek’s mouth and arched up off the bed.

Derek smirked and cupped him through his jeans, and Stiles almost whimpered. It wasn’t hard enough to be good, there was too much between Derek’s hand and his skin, but he was putting just enough pressure on Stiles’ already hardening cock that he couldn’t ignore Derek’s hand, and he wanted more.

“So, a bet, huh?” Derek asked, pulling his mouth away from Stiles’ as he continued to rub him through his jeans.

“Yeah-- oh-- it’s nothing, really.” Stiles panted. He wanted to kick his jeans off, but he figured that would be done in all due time. If Derek wanted to tease him maddeningly, well, he would let him. It would be all that much better when he finally got a hand on him. “You know, just-- stupid stuff. I wanted to switch rooms and--,” Stiles cut off, squeezing his eyes closed as Derek hooked a finger under the waistband of his jeans. “And Jackson said that he’d-- he’d convince Isaac to switch, but I had to-- just take them off,” Stiles gasped suddenly, hands fumbling for the button on his jeans.

“But you had to what?” Derek asked, fingering the zipper on Stiles’ pants. He pulled it down, once, and then did it back up, and then repeated the movement a few times until Stiles finally swatted his hand away and kicked off his jeans.

“Had to sleep with you.” Stiles said, pulling Derek in for another frantic kiss. He needed more contact. Needed more Derek. Derek, who was his now. His boyfriend. “Kind of douchy, I know, and I mean, yeah, okay, that was the reason I went after you in the first place, because normally I wouldn’t have even tried, but then you--,” Stiles sighed.

Derek pulled back until he was sitting up. Stiles followed him, feeling naked without Derek’s weight or heat on top of him, despite the fact that he was still dressed, except for his pants. “Hey,” he put a hand on Derek’s arm. “It’s not like that’s why I’m with you.” He said, frowning. “You get that, right? I mean, it’s not, I like you because of you--,”

Derek was off the bed in a matter of seconds. “I have to go.” He said, unlocking the door. “Don’t--,” he took a deep breath. “Don’t come over again.” He said, not turning around. He left with Stiles staring after him, wondering how everything had gone from perfect, absolutely perfect, to perfectly horrible in the span of an hour.

Stiles wanted to call Derek the second his mind processed what had just gone down. He wanted to explain, over and over, to assure Derek that he wanted him, not because of some stupid bet. Hell, Stiles hadn’t even been thinking about it anymore. He’d practically forgotten all about it. It hadn’t been about that for a long time.

But he knew that Derek needed time. If he was ever going to forgive Stiles, it wasn’t going to be right then, when he was still upset.

“Where’s Derek?” Scott asked when he came back to the room hours later.

Stiles was still laying on the bed, just thinking. His pants were still at the end of the bed. “Where’s Isaac?” He snapped.

Scott narrowed his eyes and Stiles instantly felt bad. He wasn’t upset with Scott. Hell, he wasn’t even really upset with Jackson. This wasn’t their fault. It was his.

“I’m sorry.” Stiles said as Scott sat on the edge of his own bed.

Scott nodded. “It’s not your fault. That one’s all mine.” He said, hands balling into fists in his blanket.

“Did he tell you why he switched?” Stiles asked.

Scott shrugged. “He just said it’d be easier. You know, after… after we hooked up.” He shrugged again. “Maybe it will be. I don’t know. I’m just-- I’m confused, you know?” He looked up at Stiles with wide eyes. “Like, I’m-- I’m not gay. I like girls. I love Allison. Right?”

Stiles lifted his hands in a shrug. “I can’t answer that, dude.”

Scott sighed. “I know. It’s just-- I don’t… I don’t think of him the way that I should, you know? Like, I shouldn’t want to kiss him all the time. He’s my friend. That’s like kissing you which, no offence, but ew.” Scott laid down on his bed. “And like, when he comes out of the shower, I like-- I can’t talk until he’s got a shirt on again, and I just--,” he waved his hands in the air helplessly. “Oh god,” he rolled over to face Stiles. “What if I’m in love with him?”

Stiles coughed to cover up the choking sound he made. “You think?”

“I don’t know!” Scott said, frustrated. “Maybe? I-- maybe. But that doesn’t-- I can’t. Allison. She-- we just got back together, right? I don’t want to screw that up again. And it’s not like he likes me back. I think he might actually hate me, to be honest.”

“I don’t think he hates you.” Stiles said, leaning up on his arm. “I think he’s just as confused as you are.”

“Really?”

“He liked you before, you know.” Stiles admitted. He knew he was crossing some sort of line into shitty friend zone, but he couldn’t help it. Not when Scott looked so helpless. “I think he’s liked you since, like, the first day here.”

“What?” Scott blinked, mouth hanging open. “You’re sure?”

“Pretty sure.”

Scott nodded and stared off into space for a moment. Stiles was fine to let him sit in silence, since that’s what he needed, too. Just to think.

“So what happened with Derek?” Scott asked suddenly.

Stiles sighed. “Jackson kind of told him about the --,” he stopped, realizing he hadn’t ever mentioned it to Scott, and now he was going to have to. Scott would give him a disappointed look, and he’d just feel shittier than he already did. But he needed that. Deserved it. “Remember that party we went to? That that guy invited you to? And I got really drunk?”

Scott nodded and Stiles continued. “Well, when I got home that night, Jackson said that he’d convince Isaac to switch rooms with me, because obviously neither us wanted to room together. But he said that the only way he’d do it was if I slept with someone.” Stiles closed his eyes and let his head hit his pillow. “And that someone was Derek.”

Scott made a surprised sound. “I can’t believe you went for that.” Scott said. “That was really stupid.”

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed. “It was. But like-- that’s how things with Derek started, you know? But it wasn’t-- I really like him. A lot. And we literally just sorted things out, you know? Took that next step. And then Jackson told him about the bet, and he-- he left.”

“Well shit,” Scott said.

And, as absurd and uncalled for as it was, Stiles started laughing. Scott joined in a few seconds later, until they were both just laying on their beds, laughing hard at their pathetic lives and how much they’d screwed everything up.

“We’re fucked, aren’t we?” Scott asked.

Stiles felt the laughter die on his lips. “Yeah,” he said quietly, Derek’s face before he left flashing in Stiles’ mind, making his stomach clench and his temples ache. “We are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I guess Jackson can officially be inducted into the I-Do-Stupid-Things-Without-Realizing-I'm-Doing-Stupid-Things club, right beside Stiles and Scott.
> 
> Also, this chapter, painful feelings wise, is nothing compared to chapter fifteen. I'm giving you guys two whole chapters of warning. You guys are probably going to hate me for that one. But thanks for reading, and reviewing! You guys are so freaking awesome I want to cry.


	13. Chapter 13

“It’s easy,” Scott said, frowning down at his text book. “Just-- just give me your work, I’ll do it.”

Stiles let out a sigh of relief and passed his math work over to Scott. He was always better at it than Stiles. Math was probably Stiles’ worst subject. Numbers were not his thing at _all_. Scott, on the other hand, was actually really good at math. It was probably his best subject, actually, and the reason he was majoring in accounting in the first place.

The room was quiet as Scott worked and suddenly any elation Stiles felt at not having to do his work disappeared. Without something to do, his mind wandered. He couldn’t help but wonder what Derek was doing. And then that led to wondering if Derek was wondering what he was doing. Probably not, he figured. Derek, apparently, hated him now.

And he couldn’t even be upset about that, because he deserved it. He did. It was his own fault, really. He never should have taken Jackson up on the bet. What kind of decent person does that? Answer: a not very decent one.

“You’re moping,” Scott said suddenly, pulling him out of his thoughts. He put down the pen in his hand and it rolled across his bed before falling to the floor. Neither of them made a move to grab it. “Have you tried calling him?”

Stiles shrugged and pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Yeah,” he admitted, flicking through the contacts. “Four times, and he only answered once, and that was to tell me not to call him again.”

Scott gave him a sympathetic look. “Maybe you should just go talk to him in person. Tell him how sorry you are. Or, you know, tell him that you’re in love with him.”

Stiles’ eyes widened. “What?” He blurted, shaking his head. “I’m not--,”

“Yeah, you are.” Scott said firmly. “Dude, I know you better than anyone. You can lie to yourself but you can’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying to anyone, I don’t love him.” Stiles denied. Because he wasn’t in love with Derek. He liked him, yeah. He liked kissing him, and touching him, and sitting in his apartment to do work while Derek tried not to bother him. He liked that Derek always made sure to have something to eat when Stiles arrived, or the way Derek chuckled quietly when he found something funny, instead of laughing loudly. And he liked that Derek’s eyebrows were always really expressive, even when the rest of his face was carefully blank. And the way the he slowly opened up to Stiles, and that he said ‘I love you’ back to his sister, even when he was clearly embarrassed. He-- shit. He really did love the guy, didn’t he? Fuck. That was-- that was stupid. “Shit.”

Scott laughed for a second before the sound trailed off. “I think you should talk to him, though. I mean, even if he tells you to leave, you’ve got to try, right? You can’t just-- you can’t just give up on something that matters.”

“Something that matters.” Stiles repeated, looking down at his phone.

“When I was with Allison, I did everything to fight for her, you know? Every time I thought I was losing her, I told her that if she really didn’t want me anymore, I’d respect that, but if there was even a part of her that did, I’d always fight for her.” Scott shrugs. “Some people are worth fighting for, no matter how hard it is.”

Stiles blinked at him, eyes wide. “Dude, that was borderline poetic.”

Scott laughed and balled up a piece of paper. He threw it, hitting Stiles right in the forehead. “Dick.”

Stiles laughed with him before frowning. “You said when.”

Scott gave him a confused look. “Huh?”

“You said, ‘ _When_ I was with Allison,’ past tense. But you are with Allison.” Stiles pointed out.

Scott shifted uncomfortably, crossing his ankles and uncrossing them. “Yeah, I am.” He admitted slowly. “But--,” he paused, taking a deep breath. “I don’t want to talk about it, okay? Because if I talk about it, I have to think about it, and I don’t want to think about it.”

“Think about _what_?” Stiles pushed, crossing his arms over his chest. “Come on, dude, I just admitted to you that I’m in love with Derek. Your turn. Spill.”

Scott ran a hand through his hair and leaned back on his palms. “I don’t know.” He said vaguely. “I don’t know what I’m doing, like, ever, okay? I just-- I love Allison. And I always will. But I can’t stop thinking about the fact that she _cheated_ on me. _Cheated_ , Stiles, and that hurts.”

Stiles nodded. He might not know exactly where Scott was coming from, never having been in that situation himself, but he knew how much it hurt to see someone you loved with someone else. “But you said if it’s worth fighting for, not to stop, right?”

Scott nodded too. “But what if I don’t want to anymore?”

A knock at the door made them both jump. “What?” Stiles shouted at the closed door.

“Can I come in?” Isaac’s voice asked from the other side of it.

Stiles turned to Scott and raised his eyebrows. Scott shook his head fast, no. “Sure.” Stiles called.

Isaac opened the door slowly and leaned in the doorway, not walking in. It was kind of weird, seeing him be so hesitant in his own room. His old room, Stiles corrected. He still struggled to think of it as his room now, as apposed to the one down the hall with Jackson. And that was just weird.

“Um, so,” Isaac shoved his hands into the pockets of his sweater. It was too big for him, and hung lower than it should have. He looked thinner than usual in it. “Jackson and I were thinking of going out.”

Isaac was biting his lip and he looked nervous. “Where?”

He hesitated before answering. “There’s this party thing, above this bakery. We met this girl when we went to dinner last night, and she invited us. Told us to bring you-- I mean, any friends-- along.”

Scott gave Stiles a look that very definitely screamed, “Say no!”

“Yeah, okay. What time?” Stiles agreed, because he was getting really sick of this avoidance thing Scott and Isaac were doing. It was taking a toll on both of them, Stiles knew, and he hated being in the middle. Scott was his best friend, and that would never change, but he’d gotten close to Isaac, too, and he hated seeing them both like this. If it really was just a hook up that meant nothing, they could just suck it up and get over it. And if it was more than that? Well, they needed to sort their shit out.

“We’ll leave at ten.” Isaac answered, grinning from ear to ear.

The second the door closed behind him a pillow hit Stiles in the face. “Why did you say yes?” Scott demanded, looking furious.

Stiles gave him a wide-eyed, innocent look. “I wasn’t supposed to?”

Scott groaned. “I hate you. I’m not going.”

Stiles gave him a hard look. “Yeah, you are, man. I’m not dealing with this anymore. You can suck it up and get over whatever thing is wrong with you and Isaac. You’re being a dick and he’s at least trying to fix things.”

“He’s the one who screwed them up!” Scott said forcefully. “He left me, I didn’t kick him out. This was his choice. Not mine.”

“I think it was your choice when you decided to hook up with him on the rebound and then get back together with Allison weeks later.” Stiles said, narrowing his eyes. “Scott, I love you. You’re practically my brother. But you’re an idiot sometimes, you know that?”

Scott was fuming, breathing in shallow, ragged pants. “I didn’t owe him anything after that. He agreed that what we did was stupid, and that it wasn’t a big deal, but then he went and switched rooms without even talking to me first. Because he hates me so much that he literally can’t even stand being in the same room as me. So don’t act like this is all on me, because it’s not.”

Stiles sighed deeply. “I think,” he said slowly, standing up. “That we should all just agree right now that whatever happened on Halloween was a big deal, okay? Because you keep saying it wasn’t, Isaac keeps saying it wasn’t, but you’re both acting like it was.”

“It wasn’t.” Scott said quietly. He didn’t look angry anymore, though. More vulnerable than anything. “It wasn’t-- it wasn’t to him, at least.”

Stiles sighed and stood up. He put a hand on Scott’s shoulder. “This is what I meant when I said you’re an idiot sometimes.” He shook his head. “I’m going to take a shower and we’re going to that party. You can have a hissy-fit if you want, I’m not changing my mind.”

* * *

 

“You know I hate your apartment.” Derek grumbled as Laura practically dragged him inside.

Laura’s apartment was almost twice as big as his. The living room was practically the size of his entire apartment. There were three bedrooms as apposed to his one, and the kitchen was actually a room instead of a big open space when you first walk in.

“Yeah, well, I’m having a party, so you have no choice.” She said, throwing a box of cupcakes from downstairs onto the kitchen counter. “And you’re not bailing, so get used to it.”

“Everything smells like donuts.” Derek said quietly, wrinkling his nose. “And--,” he froze, picking up on what she actually said. “No way, Laura. I’m not doing this.”

She raised an eyebrow and darted past him to the door. She stood in front of it, and for just a moment her eyes flashed a brilliant, violent red. “Yes way, Derek.” She said, his voice lower than usual, gravely. Almost a growl. “You’re deteriorating. You haven’t seen Stiles in, how long? Two weeks? And you’ve lost about ten pounds and you’ve missed six classes-- yes, I’ve been following you, deal with it--, so actually we are going to do this. And I’ll fight you on it if I have to.”

Derek narrowed his own eyes and bent down into a crouch. “If that’s what it comes to.”

“Stop!” She snapped. Her voice reverberated through the entire apartment. Derek could see the water in the water bottle on the counter vibrating with the force of the sound. “You will sit your ass down until everyone gets here in about an hour. And you’re staying, do you hear me?”

“What is this supposed to accomplish?” He demanded. “Do you think I’m just going to get over it? Do you think one stupid party is going to fix this?”

“Fix _what_ , Derek?” Laura asked, crossing her arms over her chest. “Say it.”

“No.”

“Say it, Derek! Just admit it! You loved him, didn’t you? All those times you told me he was annoying and immature and spastic. All those times you complained about him being in your apartment. You loved it.”

Derek snarled in response. He didn’t want to do this. Didn’t want to _admit_ it, because saying it out loud made it final. He couldn’t admit it to himself, let alone to someone else. He missed Stiles. It was as easy as that, and yet a hundred times more complicated, too. He couldn’t deal with it. Not when it physically hurt to think of him. Not when everything in his apartment smelt like him, no matter how many air fresheners he used to cover it up. He was everything, and it was driving Derek mad.

“I don’t love him,” Derek responded, stomping into the living room. “But if you’re forcing me into this then you can’t blame me when I behead one of your guests.”

“Not on the white carpet, at least.” Laura countered from the kitchen. He could hear the pleased, happy lilt to her tone. “You’ll have fun, I promise.”

“Or I’ll drown myself in the bathtub.” Derek grumbled, sinking into her too soft couch. The smell of perfume wafted up from it and he sneezed.

* * *

 

“So who’s this girl that invited you guys, anyways?” Stiles asked as they turned onto a small street lined with locally owned businesses. It was farther from campus than he’d expected. The bakery, where Isaac and Jackson said the party was being held, was at the end of the street.

“Just some girl,” Isaac said breezily, shrugging. “I’ve met her a few times and I figured we could all use a night out.”

Stiles turned to look at Scott, who was walking a few paces behind the rest of them. His hands were buried in his pockets and he was watching the ground as he walked, a scowl prominent on his face.

“I think that’s definitely something we could all use.” Stiles agreed, and Isaac quickly looked at Scott, too, his expression carefully blank, before turning back to Stiles.

The smell of donuts assaulted him as they neared the bakery. It was warm and buttery and sugary. Stiles inhaled deeply and Isaac and Jackson both stopped out front of the building. He could faintly hear music though the walls.

“She said to text her when we got here,” Isaac explained, pulling his phone out of his pocket. A few seconds after sending a text, it beeped. “She’ll be down in a second to let us in.”

Scott leaned against the wall and when Stiles met his eyes he looked just as annoyed as he had when Stiles had accepted the invitation. Stiles glared right back at him until Scott finally sighed and looked away.

“Glad you could all make it!” A perky female voice said, and the sound of music was increasingly louder when she opened the door to greet them.

Stiles entire body tensed as he recognized the voice, and he didn’t even have to turn to know who it was. “Laura.” Stiles said, eyes wide.

“You coming in?” She asked easily, paying him no more attention than the other three guys.

Jackson shrugged and went up the stairs first. Isaac gave Scott a questioning look and Scott pushed off from the wall and walked past him, careful not to let his body brush against Isaac’s at all. Isaac sighed and followed him, leaving Stiles standing outside and Laura leaning in the doorway, eyebrows raised.

“Is--,” Stiles licked his lips and swallowed. “Is he here?”

Laura frowned at him. “He who?”

“You know he who… who he?” He shook his head for a moment, confused. “Derek. Is Derek here?”

“Oh,” Laura gave him a knowing smirk. “No, he’s not here.”

He wasn’t sure if that was a relief or a disappointment. Maybe both. Just seeing Laura, with her eyes so similar to Derek’s, was like a punch to the gut, filled with guilt and regret and longing, because he _missed_ Derek. He really did.

Stiles nodded once. “Okay.” He said, walking inside. Laura followed closely behind him.

The smell of baked goods was almost heady in the air, and he wondered if, after a while, the smell got sickening, or if it was just something you got used to and stopped noticing.

At the top of the stairs was a closed door. Laura moved past him and opened it. The apartment was bigger than he’d expected. The kitchen alone was bigger than his dorm room, and the living room was huge.

“Have fun!” Laura yelled over the music.

Stiles nodded and stepped into the crowd. He could just make out Isaac, closer to one of the windows, dancing with a pretty girl with short brown hair. Jackson wasn’t in sight, and Scott was leaning against a wall, watching Isaac. Stiles rolled his eyes and started towards him.

He didn’t make it halfway across the room before a pair of arms encircled his waist and pulled him against someone. “Want to dance?” A voice asked in his ear.

Stiles shuddered and turned. The guy wasn’t bad, by an standards. He had short brown hair and bright blue eyes. He grinned at Stiles and raised his eyebrows suggestively. Stiles just really wasn’t interested.

“Sorry,” Stiles shouted over the music. “Not right now.”

“Oh, come on,” the guy coaxed, not letting go.

Stiles narrowed his eyes and tried to pull away but the arms around him were tight. “Not interested!” Stiles told him, pushing the guys shoulders.

“He said back off.” An angry voice shouted from behind him. The guy let him go and took a step back, arms raised in defence. Stiles was grateful, but he was also a little annoyed that he had to be rescued when he could have handled it himself.

He turned around to say just that to the guy behind him when he met a pair of hazel eyes and froze. “Derek.” He blurted, surprised. Derek didn’t walk away but he didn’t meet Stiles’ eyes, either. He stared at something over Stiles’ shoulder, expression blank. “Y-your sister said you weren’t here.”

“If she told you would you have bothered coming?” Derek asked, crossing his arms over his chest. His eyes flicked to Stiles’ for the briefest amount of time before returning to the place over his shoulder.

“I don’t know.” Stiles admitted, pulling the sleeves of his shirt down to cover his hands. He was stretching the material but he didn’t really care. “What about you? If you knew I was coming, would you be here right now?”

Derek’s gaze was steady, unwavering, when he looked at Stiles this time. “No.” He said firmly, and then brushed past him without another word.

It would be so easy to just let him go. To just let him walk away and try not to think about it. To push the whole thing away, and just not deal with it.

Stiles jogged after him, pushing past couples dancing. He bumped into Laura on his way and she gave him a quizzical look but he didn’t have time to stop and explain.

“Derek, come on!” Stiles called after him as Derek reached the door and walked into the hallway.

Stiles passed a couple kissing against the wall and followed Derek down the stairs and outside. When he got outside cold air seeped through the material of his shirt, but he barely noticed. Derek stopped walking away and whirled to face him, a steely look on his face.

“What?”

Stiles froze and stared at him. His mouth felt too dry, suddenly, and anything he might of said was caught in his throat. “I--,”

“Tonight, Stiles, preferably.” Derek snapped.

“Right, I just--,” Stiles paused and ran a hand over his hair. He sucked in a breath and closed his eyes. When he opened them, Derek was watching him, eyes narrowed. “I miss you.”

Derek snorted. “Are you done, or is there more?”

“Can we do this inside, maybe?” Stiles asked, wrapping his arms around his waist. His eyes dart around the street. They were alone, technically, but he felt exposed and cold.

Derek looked at him for a beat longer before knocking into his shoulder as he started down the street. “My car’s around the corner.” He said, not turning to check if Stiles was following.

Stiles hesitated a second before running after him. They were both silent as they walked towards the camaro, the only sound the thudding of their feet over the cement and Stiles’ _heavy_ breathing, trying to keep up with Derek’s quick steps.

When Derek climbed into the car, his door slammed behind him with a snap. Stiles flinched at the sound and walked around to the other side of the car. As soon as he climbed inside Derek turned the car on, turning the heater up high. Stiles sighed in relief, relaxing into the seat.

Stiles turned his head to look at Derek. “So, um,” he coughed, clearing his throat. “How’ve you been?”

Derek’s fingers curled over the steering wheel despite the fact that they weren’t going anywhere. “Fine.” He ground out.

“I’m sorry, if it-- if it helps at all.” Stiles swallowed thickly. “You know that, right? I wouldn’t-- I didn’t _mean_ to--,” he stopped himself, blinking back the wetness in his eyes. Why the fuck was he crying? He didn’t cry, not really. But he couldn’t help it. His voice sounded thick and heavy when he said, “I never meant for things to turn out the way they did.”

“You mean you didn‘t mean to let things go so far when you initially just wanted to fuck me and get what you want.” Derek states, staring straight ahead.

“I didn’t-- that’s not how it was, Derek.” Stiles said quietly. He hated the way his voice broke on Derek’s name. “I mean, technically, yeah, that’s how-- that’s how it _started_ , but--,”

“It doesn’t matter how you ended up feeling, Stiles. At the end of the day, you were with me because you were getting something out of it.”

“So that’s it?” Stiles demanded. “No matter what I say, you’re never going to forgive me?”

Derek didn’t look angry when he turned to face Stiles. He didn’t look anything, and that was probably worse. “I can’t.”

“You can’t, or you don’t want to?”

“Both.” Derek said slowly.

“At least I’m _trying_ ,” Stiles snapped, hand curling around the door handle. “You’re not trying at all, Derek.”

“I don’t owe you anything, Stiles.” Derek said quietly. “I’m not the one who screwed up here.”

He pushed open the car door and slammed it hard behind himself. The moment he was on the sidewalk the car screeched past him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I SERIOUSLY apologize for the amounts of angst vs. happiness in this chapter, but next chapter has equal parts good things and bad things. And the words 'I'm in love with you' are uttered, guys, so there's that. I'm giving you guys something nice while slowly torturing you. 
> 
> But seriously if you hate angst and sad things I would just quit this fic right now because the next couple of chapters are NOT going to be gloriously happy (no seriously, at least, not for a certain pairing that we're all routing for). But I think at the end of the fic I will try to give you guys the fluffiest freaking ending chapter ever to make up for this whole thing, okay? :D


	14. Chapter 14

Isaac couldn’t remember what her name was. Bethany? Brittany? Something along those lines. She was pretty enough. She had nice brown eyes. Wide, trusting. Definitely her best feature, in his opinion. Then again, he'd always had a thing for brown eyes.

Like Scott's. Deep and dark, yet alight when he smiled, or laughed. Crinkling at the sides, sometimes, though not nearly as often any more. No, lately they were more likely to be narrowed in anger, or annoyance, like everything Isaac did personally offended him.

Isaac sighed. "I'm sorry,” he said, letting his arms drop from around the girl’s waist. She gave him a confused look but then shrugged and walked away, unaffected.

He wasn't even sure what he was doing there, to be honest. Well, he knew why he went in the first place, that was easy. Stiles, and Derek. Laura had cornered he and Jackson at her work, and it wasn't like they really had any choice but to agree to get Stiles to go to her party, even if they had to drag him there. Actually, Jackson had been completely on board, like he was just as concerned about getting the two of them to at least talk to each other as Laura was.

He hadn't actually seen Stiles since they'd arrived, but he hoped that he was off, fixing whatever was going on between him and Derek, who Laura had promised would be there.

"Just go talk to him." Jackson's voice said from behind him. When Isaac turned Jackson nodded his head towards the opposite wall. Scott was leaning against it, watching them with an annoyed expression on his face.

"He doesn't want me to." Isaac replied in a clipped tone.

Jackson rolled his eyes. "Seriously, Lahey, trust me on this one. I've been dating Lydia for almost years now. I know relationships, and I know that when they act like they want you to get lost, they really just want you to apologize."

Isaac sighed again. If it had been anyone else, he probably would have just snapped something angrily. But this was Jackson, and he was right about one thing. He did know relationships, especially the dysfunctional kind.

Jackson gave him a light shove in Scott's direction. Isaac met Scott's eyes as he stumbled forward, and he had no choice after that but to continue towards him. If he didn't, Scott would probably think he was afraid to talk to him. Which, technically, was kind of true. He wasn't sure what it was he did, exactly, that had made Scott so upset. But he missed Scott. Missed sharing a room with him, missed talking to him, missed him, in general. Everything about him.

"Hey," he said when he stopped in front of Scott.

Scott gave him a pensive look. "What?" He called over the music. "I can't hear you."

Isaac raised an eyebrow because, yeah, okay, the music was loud, but it wasn't that loud. "I said hi."

Scott waved a hand by his ears and shrugged before pushing off from the wall. Isaac grabbed his arm, stopping him. "Come on," he pleaded. "I don't know what the hell I did, but don't just ignore me."

Scott whirled. His cheeks were flushed and his hair, usually spiked at the front, was left to flop over his forehead. It stuck there a bit, sweat sticking the hair to his skin. He looked furious and hurt, vulnerable and dangerous, all at the same time. Like a caged animal.

"You don't know what you did,“ he repeated. Isaac had to strain to hear him over the music, but what he didn't catch with his ears he followed by watching Scott's lips form the words.

"I thought we were fine!" Isaac shouted. "After I changed rooms-- I thought that would make things better."

Scott's face contorted in an angry smirk. "Yeah, well, it didn't."

"Why not?" Isaac demanded, crossing his arms over his chest. He was very aware of Laura, hazel eyes narrowed on the two of them, watching from the kitchen doorway.

"Because!" Scott yelled at him. "I--," he added something else, but Isaac didn't catch it, it was spoken too quietly and he had dropped his gaze to the floor.

"What?" Isaac asked, frowning. "I didn't--,"

"I miss you!" Scott repeated. "Okay? And you left me, with no explanation! So no, Isaac, things aren't better."

Isaac's hand slid down Scott's arm to curl around his wrist. He wasn't holding tight enough to keep Scott there if Scott really wanted to walk away, but he couldn’t make himself let go or grip him any tighter.

Isaac leaned down to Scott. A few curls fell across his face, shadowing his eyes, but he didn't bother to push them away. "Can we not do this here, please?" He begged, because he knew where this conversation was headed. Knew that Scott wasn't going to be placated until Isaac truthfully, completely explained why he did what he did.

The issue was that if he didn't explain, Scott would never stop looking at him with those betrayed, angry eyes. But if he did explain, the betrayal and anger would turn to rejection and disgust, and he wasn't sure if he could deal with that.

"Fine," Scott said, not sounding pleased. "But we are going to talk about it, then? You're not just going to leave me trying to figure out what the hell is going on like last time?"

Isaac pulled back then. "That's not what I--,"

"That's exactly what you did." Scott said, his face steely but no longer etched with anger.

"When we get back to the dorms, then." Isaac replied, taking a step back.

Scott nodded. "Which we should do now, actually. I'm not really feeling the party tonight. I'm going to find Stiles."

Isaac's phone vibrated in his pocket and he pulled it out. _So?-- Jackson._

Isaac sighed and sent back a quick, _So what?_

Jackson's reply had been almost instantaneous. _So, did you tell him you're in love with him?--Jackson_

Isaac nearly dropped the phone. He was about to send back a replying text when a new one, this time from Scott, came in. _Stiles just texted me. He left early. We can go.-- SM_

Isaac sent Scott a text telling him that he'd be out front, and then sent Jackson a text telling him they were leaving, if he wanted to go. He ignored Jackson's previous text because, really? It wasn't like he was going to admit that to Jackson. But he wasn't going to deny it, either.

* * *

 

Derek didn’t know where he was going. He was on autopilot, hands on the wheel, but mind elsewhere. Not anywhere in particular, either. It was like he couldn’t make up his mind on what he wanted to think about.

There was Stiles, and his hurt but determinedly angry look as he got out of the car. There was Laura, shaking her head at him with disappointment and pity. Worse, there was Kate, with her dark blonde hair and her wicked, mischievous eyes. And the way she’d laugh cruelly when he’d do something embarrassing, but then hold his hand or kiss him to make up for it.

Farther back, there was the memory of slamming his front door closed and screaming, “I’m a freak!” into the empty foyer of their house after running away from school. And then his mom, hands on her hips, lips pursed, looking absolutely furious. “There is nothing wrong with you, Derek, and there never will be. Anyone who thinks differently isn’t worth your time.” And then his dad, with his bear hugs and his beard, who made better cookies than anyone else in the whole house, but he’d never admit it. That’s how he fixed things; hugs and food.

He turned on the radio, loud enough to deafen. He didn’t want to think anymore, he just wanted to go. His phone vibrated in his pocket. He ignored it. It was probably Laura, or Stiles, and hell, he’d have to talk to them both eventually. Apologize, over and over.

That was his problem, in the end. He couldn’t apologize, couldn’t admit when he was wrong. And he was _always_ wrong. About _everything_. He was the one who fucked everything up. He was the one who couldn’t explain to Stiles exactly _why_ what he did hurt so much. He couldn’t tell him that the last person he’d been with had used him physically to get what she wanted. That Stiles was the first person since then that he’d allowed himself to be with, because he’d finally started to believe that maybe it would be okay to let himself be vulnerable like that again, but it turned out, in the end, that it wasn’t.

He didn’t doubt for a minute that Stiles hadn’t meant to hurt him. He didn’t doubt that Stiles had absolutely no idea just how badly he’d hurt Derek. And that wasn’t even his fucking _fault_ , because Derek was the one who hid everything from him. Derek was the one who didn’t tell him a damn thing about _anything_ , so how was he supposed to know?

Just like with Laura, always pushing him to get back out there. He never once sat her down and told her why he couldn’t. Never tried to explain. But that wasn’t because he was so used to burying things that it just became habit. No, with Laura, it was necessary, because he _couldn’t_ tell her. Couldn’t finally own up to his biggest fuck-up of them all, the one that didn’t just cost _him_ everything, but that had cost her everything, too.

He wasn’t surprised when he passed by the sign that read _Welcome to Beacon Hills!_ , the one with the population sign underneath that was never right, because kids around town always screwed around with it.

He didn’t stop anywhere in town. Almost everything was closed, anyways, except for a few bars and fast food places. He wasn’t hungry, and he definitely didn’t want to go to a bar, so he just kept driving. He took unnecessary routes, past his old public school, and then the high school. Past the grocery store that his mother always shopped at. Past the Starbucks that, just a few short years ago, had been a locally owned coffee shop called Benson Bean, where Laura had got her first job.

Eventually he started heading towards his final destination, the one outside of town. He remembered the way perfectly, probably always would. The small, barely noticeable sign before the turn off. The trees cropping up on every side of the road. And then the last turn off, the one that led slightly uphill, ending in front of his house.

He parked his car out front, pulled the keys from the ignition, but didn’t get out. Instead, he leaned his head back on his seat, reclined his chair a bit more, and fell asleep.

* * *

 

Stiles had about ten minutes of alone time. He crawled into his bed, pulled his blanket over his head, and tried to sleep. Sure, sleeping wasn’t exactly going to fix any of his problems, like the aching, nauseous feeling he had in his stomach every time he pictured Derek’s face. But at least if he was sleeping, he wouldn’t have to think about it _right then_.

Of course, Scott came home right after that, Isaac lingering in the hallway behind him. Stiles rolled over and sighed. “I’ll be in Jackson’s room.,” he said, guessing that they wanted to talk. He would have been really happy about that, because it was getting tiring, watching the two of them dance around each other. He was just in too bad of a mood to be anything but annoyed, though.

“Sorry,” Scott said, looking guilty.

Stiles waved a hand and swung his legs out of his bed. “Just-- do anything on my bed, and I’ll kill you both,” he threatened, pushing out the door. Isaac passed him his room keys on the way out.

The keys turned out to be unnecessary, because Jackson was already in the room when Stiles got there, laying on his bed, laptop beside him, Skyping with what Stiles guessed to be Lydia.

“I’ll talk to you after.” He said quickly, and there was an annoyed, “What, where are you going?” before Jackson shut the laptop.

“Scott and Isaac are using my room.” Stiles explained, sinking onto Isaac’s bed. “They probably won’t be that long.”

“Whatever,” Jackson shrugged. “At least they’re finally talking. Isaac’s been doing nothing but moping.” He hesitated. “You’re almost less annoying than he is.”

If he was in a better mood, Stiles might have laughed at that, or cracked an insulting joke. Instead, he just said, “Yeah.”

“So,” Jackson ran a hand through his hair. “You and Derek fix things?”

Stiles looked up at him. “Not really.” he said slowly, wondering why the hell Jackson even cared.

“Look,” Jackson said, and Stiles raised an eyebrow at the glare on his face. “I’m-- I don’t really-- I know that I’m the one that kind of screwed things up for you guys.”

“Kind of,” Stiles snorted. He sighed right afterwards, though. “No, it really wasn’t you. It was my fault.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Never mind.” Jackson grinned.

Stiles threw Isaac’s pillow at him. “I almost thought you were going to apologize, for a moment there.”

“Not likely.” Jackson said with a roll of his eyes. “I don’t apologize, let alone to you.”

Stiles flipped him off, but even as he did it, he felt like it was all for show. There wasn’t any actual malicious feelings between the two of them, and that? That was weird. But also, maybe, just a bit, kind of nice.

* * *

 

“You going to come in, or just stand in the doorway?” Scott asked, raising an eyebrow.

  
Isaac sighed and stepped into the room, closing the door behind himself.

It was weird, seeing his old room without his stuff in it. Now, his old bed was covered in Stiles’ clothing, his side table piled with Stiles’ books. And then there was Scott’s side, which looked the exact same, except for one tiny detail that would be insignificant to anyone else.

The picture of Scott and Allison was gone. Isaac could admit, to himself at least, that he’d noticed that picture more than he should have. It was probably the fact that Scott had looked so happy in it. Allison’s hair, in the picture, had been longer than it was the last time Isaac had seen her, but Scott’s had been the same. They were sitting on the hood of Stiles’ jeep, Allison between Scott’s legs, Scott’s head tucked into her neck. Both of them had been grinning wide.

“What?” Scott asked, following Isaac’s gaze. When Isaac turned to him there was a slight flush in his cheeks. Scott must have realized it, too, because his expression went back to guarded, and he shrugged. “I accidentally broke the frame.”

“Oh,” Isaac crossed his arms over his chest. “You should get a new one, then.”

“I don’t know, I might just--,” he paused and narrowed his eyes. “We’re not here to talk about my picture.”

Isaac ran a hand over his face. He wished they had done this in his room, that way he would feel comfortable enough to flop onto one of the beds. They hadn‘t, though, so he just stood there awkwardly. “Okay, so then what do you want to talk about?”

“I want to talk about why you just _left_ me, without talking to me first, or even letting me know it was happening beforehand!” Scott exclaimed, frustration evident in his voice. “Stiles had Derek bring his stuff over here, and I didn’t even know you’d already decided to switch. I didn’t even know you were considering switching rooms, actually.”

“And _I_ didn’t know that the only reason you hooked up with me was because your freaking _girlfriend_ cheated on you!” Isaac snapped back.

The words slipped from his mouth before he could think them through. They seemed to shock Scott even more than they shocked him. “How did you know about that?” Scott demanded quietly, almost whispering. He looked horrified. “Did Stiles--?”

“I woke up on the drive during Christmas break.” Isaac admitted quickly, not wanting to get Stiles in trouble for something he had no part in.

“Isaac,” Scott said his name like a plea. He shook his head. “That’s not--,”

Isaac raised his hands. “Don’t, okay? I don’t want an excuse. It’s fine. That’s-- that’s not why I left. I mean, it has to do with it, but it’s not _your fault_ that I had to get away from you. It’s mine.”

Scott frowned at him, like he wasn’t following. Isaac wasn’t surprised. He figured he’d have to spell it out for him, he just wished he didn’t, because this was already hard and embarrassing and there was a new, constant ache in his chest that just wouldn’t go away, like he couldn’t take a complete breath. Mildly, he worried that he might be having a panic attack.

“The reason it bothered me so much, finding that out,” Isaac started, because he had to just get it done quickly, like ripping off a band-aid, “was because I realized that it _hurt_. It hurt a lot to think that it literally meant _nothing_ to you, that it was just an act of vengeance. And then I realize that the reason it hurt so much was because I’m in love with you.” He sucked in a breath, ignoring the way Scott’s eyes widened. “I mean, I knew I _liked_ you, obviously. I think I was kind of screwed from the first day when you smiled at me and then nearly tripped over your own bags walking into the room. I just didn’t realize that I was in love with you. And then after that it was just too hard to be so close to you.”

Scott was still silent, and Isaac was grateful, because he wasn’t done yet. “I just couldn’t deal with it. I couldn’t come back here and just share a room with you and laugh and talk like we used to. I wish I could have, because you’re, like, my best friend, but I couldn’t. So I called Jackson and asked him if he’d be okay with me switching rooms. He said no at first, but then eventually he agreed, and so I moved rooms.” At this point he _wanted_ Scott to say something. Needed him to, because if not he was going to keep talking to fill the silence and he didn’t want to, had already embarrassed himself enough.

“See?” Isaac snapped when Scott continued to gape at him. “Sometimes not knowing the truth is better. I knew you’d react this way, and that’s why I didn’t tell you. I figured it’d be for the best to just do it without talking first, because that way we could still attempt to be friends. Now that’s kind of gone to shit though, right?”

Scott finally opened his mouth to say something. Isaac cut him off, though. “I’m just-- I’m going to make this less awkward for both of us and leave.”

Isaac’s shoulders slumped a bit as he walked out of the room. He didn’t turn around as he swung the door shut behind him, but he noticed the absence of the sound of it closing. He didn’t turn as he walked towards his room.

At least, not until Scott yelled, “Wait!”

Isaac whirled and shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his sweater. They were sweaty, and he felt too hot, like he was burning up. He didn’t answer Scott. He stood there and waited, like Scott asked.

Scott was standing in front of the door to his own room, as was Isaac. Neither of them made to move closer to the other. “You can’t just tell me you love me and then walk away.”

Isaac raised his eyebrows. “Really? Because I think I just did.”

He winced as soon as the words were out of his mouth, but he couldn’t force himself to apologize.

“You could have at least waited for me to say something,” Scott said, and he sounded as defensive as Isaac felt.

“I really don’t want to hear the nice-guy let down, Scott. The inevitable ‘we can just be friends!’, because maybe we can, just not right now, okay?”

Tears welled in his eyes and he willed them to disappear. He really didn’t want to cry, not there, not in front of Scott. He didn’t want to make Scott feel worse, but looking at the wounded, guilty look on his face, he knew already had. It wasn’t Scott’s fault, though. He couldn’t help that he didn’t want Isaac, and Isaac wasn’t mad at him for it. Okay, he wouldn’t be mad at him for it after he’d calmed down.

And on top of all that, he was painfully aware of the fact that they were standing in the hallway, and anyone could be listening in on their conversation.

“I wasn’t going to say that.” Scott denied. Isaac noted the way his hands balled into fists at his sides, and the way his chest moved quickly with every breath, like he was almost panting. “You don’t know what I was going to say.”

Isaac sighed deeply. “There’s nothing you could say or do right now that could possibly make me feel better, Scott. Just leave it for now, alright? We’ll-- we’ll talk tomorrow, okay?”

Because he _had to get out of there_. He had to get into his room before he started really crying, and Scott would hear his sobs, and it was all just so _pathetic_. God, why had he even convinced himself for a single second that things could be different? Because they couldn’t. In the end, he’d always love Scott and Scott would always be sorry that he couldn’t return the feelings. They’d never be able to go back to being friends again, not now that Scott was watching him with a mixture of frustration and pity on his face. Not when he was--,

“I got drunk and we gave each other hand-jobs,” Scott blurted, and Isaac literally had to lift his hand to cover his face. He wasn’t finished though, apparently, and Isaac had no choice but to listen to the rest. “And I told myself it was the alcohol, and it was the fact that my girlfriend cheated on me. And maybe, yeah, that was the motivation, but, I mean--,” he paused and ran a hand through his dark hair, “that’s not the only _reason_. It was supposed to be, but then I couldn’t stop thinking about kissing you, and I couldn’t stop staring when you’d take your shirt off. Or when you’d bend your head over your textbook, and a bit of your hair would fall over your forehead. Or the way you suck on the ends of pens -- _god_ , that drove me crazy. And then I realized when I went home that I couldn’t even sleep because you weren’t there!”

Isaac felt his lips part in shock and confusion as he tried to process Scott’s words.

“Then Allison said she wanted to get back together, and I was so in denial that I said yes! I convinced myself I still love her, and maybe I do, but it’s not-- I don’t--, not the same way, not anymore, because I fell in love with _you_. Without even noticing it was happening! It just _did_. And you told me that what happened between us was nothing, so I tried to convince myself I didn’t feel what I really did. I needed time to figure things out, okay? I thought I was going crazy! And then you just left, stopped talking to me, stopped being there, and I was confused and hurt and--,”

“What did you just say?” Isaac demanded, taking a step towards Scott.

Scott’s eyes were wide and vulnerable, but he narrowed them when Isaac spoke. “You’re going to have to be a bit more specific, because I just spilled my freaking heart to you, dude.”

“You fell in love with me.” Isaac repeated, continuing on his path to Scott. And everything felt ridiculously like he was in a really bad Jennifer Aniston movie, but he couldn’t help it.

Scott shrugged and Isaac was close enough now to notice the flush in his cheeks. “Yeah, maybe.” Scott answered.

“Maybe? Or yes?” Isaac asked, because he had to know. Had to know he meant it.

“Yes.” Scott said firmly, the word practically a hiss.

“Then do something about it.” Isaac ordered, moving the last bit closer to Scott, so that they were nearly touching. When they both inhaled at the same time, their chests pressed together.

And Scott did as he was told, leaning up to grasp Isaac’s face hard in both his hands, crashing their lips together.

“Will you two get a room or shut the fuck up?” Someone shouted from down the hall. Isaac faintly recognized the voice. It belonged to the guy in the room next to his, the one everyone called Matrix, whose real name Isaac didn’t know.

And Isaac could care less, because he wasn’t letting Scott go any time soon. But he did realize the pros of actually being alone in a room, so he crowded himself against Scott, urging him backwards. Scott’s lips didn’t leave his once, and his tongue swept across Isaac’s lower lip as Isaac pushed him against the door.

Inside, Isaac hesitated. “What about Stiles?”

Scott made an annoyed sound and dug into his pocket, pulling his phone out of his pocket. At the same time, he kept a grip on Isaac’s waist and walked backwards, until he hit the bed. Isaac fell on top of him, straddling his hips, while Scott quickly typed something on the phone and then tossed it onto the next bed.

“Told him not to come in unless he wants to see more of both of us than anyone is comfortable with.” Scott said, grinning.

Isaac chuckled and pressed his lips against Scott’s collarbone. “Here I thought maybe you’d just want to cuddle.”

Scott didn’t laugh back. “If that’s what you want,” he said quietly. “I’m willing to take whatever you’re willing to give, okay? No pressure.”

Isaac felt warm all over and closed his eyes, getting lost in the feeling of his body pressed against Scott’s. “Okay,” he said, smiling against Scott’s skin.

* * *

 

Derek woke to the sound of someone rapping on his window. He blinked open his eyes and frowned at the man glaring down at him.

“You can’t sleep here,” the man said angrily, and Derek noted the deputy uniform he was wearing, though he didn’t recognize him. “This is private property, son.”

Derek resisted the urge to roll his eyes and pushed open his door enough to talk through it. “I know,” he said. “I live here.”

The deputy looked confused for a moment, and then shocked, and then, at the end, a look of pity came over his face when he realized just what that meant. “Sorry to bother you, Mr. Hale. Someone called in a report about someone sleeping in a car up here and I thought-- well, never mind. You have a good day.”

Derek looked up at his old house after that was said. “Have a good day.” He repeated, and snorted.

If you looked hard enough, you could almost see how beautiful his home used to be. His mom used to have a flower garden out front, and in the winter there’d be a plethora of Christmas lawn ornaments. Now, all that was on the lawn was over grown grass, debris from the fire, and the occasional bottle of alcohol, as if a group of kids hadn’t been able to find anywhere _better_ to get wasted.

He pulled his door closed and put the key back in the ignition. This time, he knew where he was headed.

Twenty minutes later he pulled up in front of his house again. He pulled the bags out of his car and took the giant, black marker out of the packaging. He quickly wrote his cellphone number in large, clear numbers on the sign, and then smaller, underneath it, he wrote Laura’s, just in case.

The sign easily went into the ground and he took a step back, checking to see if it was even.

_For Sale By Owner_ the sign read. Of course, he’d have to talk to Laura about it, call an actual realtor the works. But for now, that sign alone fight a bit like the beginning of closure.

Derek got back in his car and headed away from Beacon Hills and back to his home. His actually home. Not the burnt out shell of a building that he’d been clinging to for years because he couldn’t let it go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've got all of sixteen chapters written, and I feel like this fic is probably going to have somewhere around 20 chapters all together. But I'm just letting you guys know that we're nearly out of all the chapters I have prewritten, which means that after the sixteenth chapter, I won't be able to upload a new chapter everyday. After that, I will have them up as soon as I possibly can, but that may mean a two or three day gap between chapters, or even a week between them, depending on how much difficulty I'm having with writing each chapter, and with how much freetime I have. Thank you all for the reviews and for reading! You're lovely! --C


	15. Chapter 15

By the time Derek got back to his apartment, it was too late at night to do anything, so he crawled into bed. He felt a slight pang in his chest when he realized that he could no longer smell Stiles anywhere in the room. It’d been too long by this point, apparently.

Still, he had the best nights sleep that he’d gotten in a long time. There were no nightmares, no tossing and turning and screwing up the sheets. When he woke up in the morning, he actually felt rested, instead of exhausted. The only time he could remember that happening in the past couple months-- or even years, maybe-- was when Stiles had been asleep in the living room.

He showered quickly, didn’t bother with shaving -- he rarely did-- and dressed for the day. He grabbed his jacket and, for good measure, the brand new, unopened carton of ice cream out of his fridge, and went to head out the door. At the last minute he went back into his room and pulled open the bottom drawer of his dresser, grabbing the small box that was buried under socks, boxers, and briefs. He pulled the little wolf figurine that Laura had gotten him for Christmas out of the box and put it carefully on his sidetable.

\--

As usual, the sickly sweet smell of the bakery downstairs made him wrinkle his nose as he started up the stairs to her apartment. It wasn’t as bad in the apartment, but he still had no idea how Laura dealt with it all the time.

When he knocked on the door, Laura pulled it open, a look of surprise on her face for a moment. Then, that look of surprise narrowed, and she pulled her lips back, baring her teeth at him. “Look who finally shows up,” she practically growled, not pulling the door open enough for him to go in. “Where the hell have you been?” she demanded. “I tried calling! Numerous times! You just disappeared from my party, and that was two _days_ ago, Derek! I was worried sick.”

Her voice dropped, and her eyes looked wet. “Don’t do that to me, okay? Derek, you don’t know how freaked out I was.”

“I’m sorry.” Derek said, giving her an apologetic look. He ran his freehand through his hair and sighed. “I had some things I had to do.”

“And you couldn’t have called and maybe told me that?” She asked, the tearful concern reverting back to anger. “Do you not know how to answer a phone?”

“I brought ice cream?” He said, holding it out in front of himself like a peace offering.

Laura pursed her lips, looked between his face and the ice cream, and then sighed and pushed the door open. She grabbed the ice cream from him first, though, and headed into the kitchen. Derek walked into the place and shut the door behind himself.

“So, what’s up?” Laura asked, grabbing a spoon and digging right into the ice cream, even though it was only ten in the afternoon.

Derek raised his eyebrows and leaned against the counter. “What do you mean?”

Laura rolled her eyes. “Well, as sad as it is, you never come over here unless I invite you -- or drag you-- here first. And yet, here you are, in my apartment, and I didn’t do either of those things.”

Derek bit the inside of his lip. What she said was true, he never did come over unless she made him. But hearing her say it out loud made him feel guilty. “I’m sorry.” he said again.

Laura nodded. “It’s fine. But something’s up, right? That’s why you’re here.”

Derek sighed again looked away from Laura to stare determinedly at the fridge. “I--,”

“Is this about that kid?” Laura asked. “Stiles? I watched you two leave my party the other night.”

Of course Laura wouldn’t just let him get to it on his own time. That’s what she did, she pushed and pushed. And right now, at least, he was kind of grateful for that. He might not get out what needed to be said today if she didn’t.

“The thing is--,”

Laura cut him off again. “Couch,” she ordered, pointing out the door of the kitchen.

“Huh?”

“This looks like the type of conversation that calls for a lot of coffee. You go sit, I’ll make a pot, and then we’ll talk, okay?” She said, and then he was reminded of the fact that Laura was a very soft person, underneath the sassy exterior. For the longest time, she’d been his main caregiver, and she was only a couple years older than he was.

“Okay.” Derek agreed, if only to put the conversation they were about to have off for as long as possible.

There was a lot of clanking going on in the kitchen as Derek settled down into her sofa. Laura was always unnecessarily loud when she did things. She’d bang pans, throw things in the sink, toss her spoons on the counter. It was probably for the same reason that she left the television on, or refused to drive in his car without turning on the radio-- Laura liked noise.

A few minutes later Laura appeared with two steaming cups of coffee-- one topped with cotton candy flavoured ice cream. Derek made a face at her and she just shrugged. “It tastes good.”

Derek took a sip of his coffee. It was just the way he liked it, which wasn’t really surprising, since Laura always made him coffee. It was the first thing she’d done when they’d first settled into that apartment in Oregon months after the fire. She went straight to walmart, bought a coffee maker, two cheap mugs, and all the fixings for a good coffee.

“So,” Laura said quietly, placing her cup on the coffee table. She folded her legs underneath herself and turned to him. “Talk.”

He had so many thing to say, though, that it was nearly impossible to know how to start. He didn’t want to tell her about Stiles’ stupid bet. For some reason, he wanted to protect Stiles from that, because he knew Laura, and he figured that Stiles would be with one less limb the next time Derek spoke to him if he did tell her. But he also couldn’t tell her about putting up the for sale sign yet, either, because then she’d ask why he finally decided it was time.

“Do you remember in tenth grade, when I started going out at night, and not coming home after school?” Derek started, deciding that maybe it was best to start at the beginning.

Laura looked shocked for a moment, and he figured he knew why. They didn’t talk about this stuff. Every time Laura brought up some hidden memory, or smiled about something that had happened _before_ and tried to bring him into her little happy bubble of remembrance, Derek would bail, or get angry. And here he was, bringing the past up, on his own.

“And mom thought you were into drugs before uncle Peter logically pointed out that they wouldn’t really do much for you, anyways.” Laura smirked.

Derek wanted to laugh at that, but he couldn’t. “Yeah,” he ran a hand over his face and took another sip of his coffee first before continuation. “I was seeing someone.”

Laura processed this slowly. “Okay. What was his name?”

“Her.” Derek corrected, staring down at his cup. “Her name was Kate.”

If that name held any sort of meeting for her, the way it did him, she didn’t let it show. “Is she-- you didn’t get her pregnant, did you?”

Derek almost wanted to cry at that. If he cried, which he hadn’t, not once in all those years, because he didn’t feel he deserved to. But it was such a ridiculous question, so out there, that he almost wished it was something that _simple_. “No,” he said quietly. “I didn’t.”

“So then--?”

Derek sighed, put his coffee down, and then told her. Told her it all, starting from the moment he’d met Kate in the school library at lunch. He spent every lunch there, because he didn’t really have friends. Derek had been gawky and awkward, and he never quite fit in with anyone. It was easier to eat behind the stacks of books than in the open cafeteria, so that’s what he did. And one day, a beautiful girl with darkish blonde hair and gorgeous eyes, and a quick, wicked grin sat down next to him.

Kate was only two years older than him, due to graduate that year. She told him that she spent most of her lunches in the library, too, preparing for killer exams. Her parents were really hard on her to do well, she said, and Derek could understand that. She said that he looked lonely, so she thought she’d introduce herself. She then asked why they didn’t have any classes together, and Derek told her it was because he was still in tenth grade. She’s leaned forward on the table then and her mouth was open in a little ‘o’ of shock.

“But you look way older,” she’d said, and then her hand touched his over the table. “That’s a shame. I don’t think I’d hate History so much, if you were sitting beside me.”

And Derek might have fallen for her right then. He wasn’t sure. Okay, it had probably been more gradual than that, but still. And he’d never once introduced her to his parents, because he loved them, he did, but his family was weird. Any friend that he had over the years had only ever came over once, and after that whenever Derek tried to invite them, they’d make up excuses, and then they’d start avoiding Derek, and then they stopped being friends all together.

But Kate, it turned out, had secrets of her own. Secrets that she shared with Derek, and Derek alone. Like the fact that she could hit a target from a hundred feet off with a pistol. That she’d learnt how to shoot a crossbow at the age of eight. That her family was a very specific kind of hunters. At that, Derek had went cold, because he started piecing it together, what that all meant.

When she told him, whispered, in the front seat of her car while they watched a shitty movie at the drive in, that her parents hunted the kind of creatures that weren’t supposed to exist, Derek knew exactly what she was talking about. Werewolves. He was dating a _werewolf_ hunter.

It wasn’t until after they slept together, in her bed-- “My parents won’t be home for the weekend, it’s fine,” she’s assured him at the time, -- still naked, wrapped around each other, that he told her the truth about _his_ family. She’d looked shocked, and then scared, and then she squeezed her arms around him a little tighter.

“I don’t care.” She’d said then. “I love you, and I’m not going to let anyone take that away from us.”

And Derek told her he loved her, too. And that was that. Until, of course, Kate started asking more questions about his family. She was curious, she’d said. She’d never actually seen a werewolf, and while her parents taught her how to hunt, they never really explained to her what the beasts they were hunting were like.

She even seemed sorry, that her family had ever killed any of his kind. She said that he and his family sounded so close, something that she didn’t feel with her own parents at all.

And they talked a lot, Kate and him. Derek admitted a lot of things to her, like the fact that he never felt comfortable around anyone, and he didn’t know why. And she had let out her own confessions, ones that, even when he was recounting the story to Laura, Derek didn’t utter, because they still felt too private, and he felt the need to keep her secrets, even when he hated Kate Argent more than he hated anyone else in the entire world.

And then there was the night of the fire. Laura and Derek were still at the high school. Kate was supposed to be there, too. Not that they ever got too close around Laura. Kate admitted that she was afraid Derek’s family would find out what she was, and would make him stop seeing her. But Kate was always sneaky, and she’d smile at him from across the room and wink to get his attention.

Maybe he had wanted to tell his family by that point. He couldn’t remember. But before he ever got the chance, it was too late. They were gone, except Laura, and he couldn’t tell her, not when she’d hate him for it. Not when telling her meant losing the last of his family. Not when he knew, deep down, exactly who had set that fire. Because he had no doubt in his mind that it was Kate. None at all. Not after the way she’d looked at him the day before they left town, when he’d called her and begged her to come to the station so he could say goodbye to her before Laura dragged him across the country.

When he finished talking Laura was crying. Her body was moving with her sobs, and she had a hand covering her mouth. Derek moved to put his arms around her, to try and comfort her, but she pushed him away.

Derek felt cold all over. He knew that would happen. Knew what he was risking, admitting all that to her. “I’m sorry.” He said quietly, getting ready to grab his things and leave. Laura shook her head and then she grabbed him in the tightest hug of his life. “I’m so sorry, Derek,” she said into his shoulder. Derek could hardly breath. “God, I’m so sorry.”

Derek tried to push her back but she wouldn’t move for a few minutes. She just clutched him and cried, her tears leaving wet streaks on his leather jacket.

“Why would you be sorry?” Derek demanded, voice gruffer and thicker than he’s like.

Laura pulled back and attempted to collect herself, rubbing at the mascara streaks on her cheeks, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Because you felt like you couldn’t tell me that.” She said quietly. “Because you held that all in, and you’ve felt guilty all this time, and you couldn’t tell me.”

“I thought that you’d--,”

“Hate you?’ Laura finished. She shook her head. “Derek, there’s nothing you could do that would make me stop loving you, okay?” She sighed. “God, I feel like an emotional mess, but remember that, alright? Nothing.”

The thing is, he wanted to feel relieved after telling Laura, and maybe he did, a bit, but felt empty. Like he’d been filled with those secrets for so long, now that they were gone, he was just-- empty.

“So, what made you decide to tell me?” Laura asked quietly.

Derek looked up at her. “I think we should sell the house.”

“Okay,” she nodded slowly. “I agree. I’ve been thinking it for a while.” She ran a hand through her hair. “We can’t sell the house. The best we can do is sell the property-- and there’s a lot of it-- and we won’t get much for it, not when whoever buys it has to tear down the rest of the building.”

Derek nodded. He hadn’t really thought that far ahead, but Laura apparently had, a while ago, judging by her tone. “Okay.”

“You’re sure, though?” Laura asked.

“Yeah,” Derek admitted. “There’s no point to keeping it. I can’t ever live there again, and I doubt you could. It’ll just rot for the rest of our lives.”

Laura nodded and hugged him again, quickly. “I’ll call a realtor.” She said.

“I’ve got some other things I have to take care of, anyways,” Derek told her, standing up. “But-- thanks for letting me talk.”

Laura’s expression crumpled again, looking like she was about to cry once more. “Anytime.” She said tightly. “Now go, before I cry enough to drown us both.”

Derek gave her a smile that was only partially fake and left.

* * *

 

Stiles groaned awake to the sound of someone at the door. Scott, already awake, jumped out of his bed, a grin on his face. He pulled open the door and grabbed Isaac around the waist, dragging him into the room. Stiles threw his pillow at them.

“It’s too early. I’m going to throw up,” he said, trying to shut his eyes and fall back asleep. He felt like that’s all he’d done in the last couple of days-- sleep. He couldn’t find the energy to get out of bed for anything other than class.

Scott gave him a concerned look and released Isaac. Isaac moved and sat on his bed. “Maybe we should all go out.” Scott suggested.

Stiles sighed. “I don’t want to.”

Stiles could almost hear the silent conversation Isaac and Scott were exchanging. He rolled his eyes at the two of them.

“I think,” Scott said slowly, “that maybe it would be good for you.”

Stiles sat up. “It wouldn’t.” He said firmly. “I just want to wallow and sleep, okay?”

“But--,”

“But nothing,” Stiles said forcefully. “Okay? I feel like shit _all the time_. Do you know what it’s like to hurt someone that you’re in love with? Do you know what it’s like to see betrayal on their face, to know that they’re never going to forgive you? No, you don’t. So don’t try and tell me how to deal with this.”

Scott looked instantly guilty. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “You’re right. I’m going to pick up breakfast before Allison gets here, what do you want?”

“Not a breakfast sandwich.” Stiles said quickly. It was stupid, he knew, but the last one he’d eaten had been in Derek’s apartment, and that made him feel sick all over. Suddenly Scott’s words sunk in, though, and his eyes widened. “Did you just-- _Allison_?”

Scott sighed. “Yeah, I called her and asked her if she could come down, or if she wanted me to come up there.” Scott admitted, looking at Isaac, who looked back, apparently unfazed by this. Obviously they’d talked about it before now. “We’re breaking up.” Scott said quietly. “For good. And I just-- she knows that’s what’s happening, too, but I just thought--,” Scott paused. “It’s best to do in person. To let her know that this is for _good._ It’s not just a break where we get back together a week or two later.”

Stiles nodded. “So does that mean you two…?” He asked, waving a hand between Isaac and Scott.

Scott smiled, and Isaac turned kind of pink. “Yeah.” Scott agreed.

Stiles groaned. “I would be happy for you two, really, if I didn’t hate everyone.”

Scott laughed and stood up, Isaac following him. “But take a shower while we’re gone, okay?” Scott said. “Because you smell.”

“I do not!” Stiles shouted after them, but the door closed and he sunk back against his bed.

He could go back to sleep, he mused. Scott probably wouldn’t wake him again, unless it was to give him food. But he climbed out of bed anyways. He took the longest shower he could remember having in the dorms. Normally, he was in and out of there as quickly as he could, because he hated the place. But today, he took his time, letting the hot water rain down on him until he finally admitted that it wasn’t going to take the hallow feeling inside him away.

But showers are a good place to think, and he did. And he sorted some things out, kind of. Like the fact that he couldn’t be upset at Derek. Sure, Derek was emotionally stunted, and would rather run away from things than try to work them out. But _he_ was the one in the wrong here, not Derek. And Derek had every right to be pissed at him, to not want to talk to him ever again.

But Stiles wasn’t sure if he could live with that. Like Scott had said not so long ago, if someone was worth fighting for, and there was even a sliver of hope that they would want you to, then you better do it. So that’s what he was going to do. He was going to fight for Derek.

No, he was going to fight to prove to Derek that he was someone who Derek could trust again. Someone who he could maybe, one day, want to be with again. And if that didn’t work, well, at least he tried. And if he didn’t try, he’d regret it for the rest of his life.

He just wasn’t sure exactly what he was going to do.

When he got back to his room Scott and Isaac were eating. Stiles was grateful that they weren’t all over each other, clinging and kissing, the way Scott had been with Allison once they’d officially started dating. He really did want them to be happy, honest, but he wasn’t sure if he could deal with _that_ at the moment.

“Got you a breakfast burrito,” Scott said, chucking a foil wrapped tube at him. Stiles caught it and unwrapped it.

Now that he had sort of worked things out, at least in his mind, he was feeling a bit better. “I think I’m going to go out for the day.”

Scott shook his head. “You can’t!” He said quickly.

Stiles frowned. “Didn’t you just, like, an hour ago, tell me that I needed to get out?”

“Yeah, but--,” Scott looked uncomfortable. “Allison texted me and said that her aunt was picking her up to take her back to Beacon Hills for the weekend, and they’re stopping here on the way. So I kind of told her that you’d take her aunt for coffee, or show her around campus, or something, while we talked.”

Stiles gaped at him. “You volunteered me to baby-sit some old lady?” Stiles demanded.

Scott gave him an apologetic look. “She‘s not old,” he said. “And Isaac would do it but, you know, I don’t really think Allison would appreciate that.”

Stiles sighed. “I’m back to hating everyone,” he announced, sinking onto his bed. “You are officially the worst.”

\--

Three hours later Scott and Stiles stood out front of their dorm. Stiles’ hands were buried in the pocket of his jeans, and Scott looked like he was close to bolting at any moment.

“Calm down,” Stiles told him, rolling his eyes.

Scott glared at him. “Did you know that Allison is trained in martial arts? And that I’ve went to her practices more than once, and she can take down a grown man twice my size with just her toes?”

Stiles raised his eyebrows, impressed. “Huh,” he said. “Maybe you should be nervous.”

Instead of glaring at him again, Scott just sighed. “Does it make me a bad person if I feel relieved?”

“About what?” Stiles asked, kicking a random rock. It rolled down the sidewalk before slipping off the curb.

“About this whole thing just-- being done?” Scott asked. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, Allison is probably the greatest girl I’ve ever met. She’s a good person, you know? And she’s beautiful, and we were-- when we worked, we worked really well.” He shrugged. “But we didn’t really work all that often, you know? And it’s-- it’s good, that this is happening.”

“You sound sad about it, though.” Stiles pointed out.

“Well, yeah,” Scott raised his eyebrows. “It’s always sad when a relationship ends, even if it’s for the better, when the two people involved really do love each other.”

Stiles nodded mutely.

Scott looked about to say something else, but a black SUV started driving towards them, and Stiles could faintly make out Allison in the front seat. It came to a stop only a few feet from them, and Allison got out of the car, follow by --

Stiles’ eyes widened. A gorgeous woman exited the car. She was wearing a tight red tank top and a pair of dark jeans that fit her really, really well. She had darkish blonde hair that fell in waves over her shoulders. If Stiles wasn’t so hung up on Derek, he might of started fumbling all over himself when the two of them approached. As it was, her hotness was only noticed for all of about five seconds, and then Derek’s face flashed in his mind, and, really, there was no comparison.

“Hey,” Allison said quietly. “Stiles, Scott, this is my aunt, Kate.”

Stiles frowned. “But you’re--,”

“Only five years older than Allison, I know,” she winked. “Don’t ask, it still grosses my brother out.”

“So,” Allison said hesitantly. “Are we going to talk?”

“Um,” Scott looked at Stiles. Stiles looked back at him.

“Oh my god,” Kate rolled her eyes and grabbed Stiles’ arm. “You can show me around campus.” She said, dragging him away. “They’re so adorable.” She added as they walked away. “Too bad that it didn’t work out.”

“Yeah,” Stiles said, feeling overwhelmed. “Um, there’s not really much to see on campus.”

Kate released his arm and shrugged. “So then take me off campus. It can’t be that far of a walk to the nearest coffee shop, right?”

“Um, right,” Stiles agreed.

\--

Kate was actually kind of great, Stiles realized about twenty minutes later. She was funny, in a dry, cynical sort of way. And she had this smile, one that as kind of wicked and mischievous, as well as endearing. And Stiles? He found himself not minding at all that he had been stuck taking Kate out while Scott and Allison talked.

In fact, he was feeling better than he had in days. It was almost easy, sipping coffee and chatting away with Kate about classes and campus life, to forget about Derek, and all the shit that had went down between them.

At least, until his phone vibrated and he pulled it out of his pocket, thinking it was Scott. It wasn’t. It was Derek.

_Can we talk?_ it said, and Stiles stared down at the screen.

Derek wanted to talk to him. Maybe he was even willing to give Stiles another chance, to let him make up for what he did wrong.

“Who’s that?” Kate asked, leaning on the table on her elbows.

Stiles looked up at her, and then down at the phone. The thing is, now that the opportunity presented itself, Stiles was kind of torn. Did he really want to, after all? Want to talk to Derek, and then leave again, feeling like shit? Did he really want to fight so hard for something that might not work out anyways?

Look at Scott and Allison! They’d spent three years together, and sure, they were in love, but that didn’t mean that either of them had been happy most of the time. In fact, usually, they weren’t, And in the end, _there was an end_. All the times they fought for each other, all the times they said they loved each other, it didn’t matter, because every relationship ended eventually, right?

Did he really want to go through that kind of pain with Derek? Because he was already in love with the guy. He’d just fall even more, and then, eventually, Derek would break up with him, and break his heart. Or they’d fall out of love. Either way, it wouldn’t last.

“It’s no one.” Stiles said quietly. He quickly typed an answer to Derek.

_I’m busy,_ he sent, and then pocketed his phone and grinned at Kate. “So, you were telling me about archery.” He prompted, and if his chest hurt, and his coffee no longer tasted good, well, whatever. He was going to have to deal with the pain and move on eventually. It was best to just start now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would just like to clear up that, for the sake of this fic, Derek is 23, and both Laura and Kate are 25. I know that's not technically canon, but, like I said, for the sake of this fic, that's how it is, in case anyone was confused by this. :)


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, quick note here: I haven't updated in two days (usually I update everyday). This is mostly because I've been writing, and when I started uploading this fic, I had 14 chapters written. I've not got 17 complete chapters done so, yay for that.
> 
> Another reason I haven't updated in two days, despite having two chapters complete and ready to go, is because I wasn't completely sure about the direction I was taking this fic. Along the way, a few people have commented something along the lines of, "LOVE THIS FIC BUT... how is Stiles going to find out about werewolves?". Well, it's definitely going to come up. Originally, I had a plan that in chapter 14 (I believe?) something was going to happen, and it was definitely not a GOOD something, and as a result Stiles would find out about 'wolves. But see, I had to nix that entire idea, because I was extremely unhappy with it, and logically, if I had went with it, I wouldn't have been able to write a conclusion that would have satisfied me, because there was no healthy, realistic way to have Stiles and Derek get back together because of it. If I would have put them back together after what I'd originally planned to write, it would have seemed really forced, and really fake. 
> 
> So, you guys have had to wait while I nixed a bunch of stuff and figured out and wrote a new idea. This one I am REALLY happy with. Like, I love it, but I wasn't sure how it would play out, or if you guys would enjoy it. But in the end I said screw it, because it's fun for me to write, and personally I enjoy it. So! That wall of unnecessary text (sorry) aside, I sincerely hope you readers enjoy it as well! -- C

Stiles had went out with Kate four times since the day she drove Allison to talk to Scott. Stiles wasn’t sure how he felt about her. Sure, Kate was totally the perfect girl (funny, cute, smart, sarcastic), but he was having issues letting go of Derek. Every time Kate laughed her throaty laugh over coffee, Stiles couldn’t help but think of Derek’s quiet chuckle. Every time Kate grinned, widely, unabashed, Stiles was reminded of Derek’s genuine smile, the one that was reserved for special occasions, not one that was just handed out to every passer by. There were so many differences between the two of them, really.

But on the forth date, because he knew that’s what they were, when they went to see a shitty movie that they both just criticized the whole time, Kate kissed him. It wasn’t a _bad_ kiss, really. She knew what she was doing, definitely. Her lips had been slick with a cherry flavoured lip gloss, and she’s tasted like popcorn and Pepsi. And her hair was soft when Stiles reached up to run his hands through it.

But again, he focused more on the differences between her and Derek, than actually on her. Like the fact that she was soft where he was hard, but also that she was hard where he was soft. Kate’s personality didn’t have a sweet side, or if it did, Stiles had never seen it. And Derek was the opposite. Kate was smiles and laughter and sarcasm, and Derek was glares and clenched fists and, underneath that, someone who was kind of nice, despite how much he tried to hide it. Underneath everything, Derek had always made sure to cook dinner for Stiles, had let Stiles camp out in his living room and do his work, had gotten him breakfast. Tiny little things that, in the end, added up to Derek not being as much of an ass as he’d probably like to think he was.

But he’d kissed her back, and he didn’t hate it, and when she told him to that she was going to be staying at her brother’s house around the same time Stiles would be home for Spring Break, Stiles agreed to meet with her.

Scott was kind of grossed out about the whole thing. Every time Stiles left their dorm room to meet Kate for coffee or a movie, Scott had clucked his tongue and glared at him.

“I just think that you’re kind of an asshole,” Scott had finally admitted the third time this happened, when Stiles decided to ask what his problem was.

“I’m an asshole,” Stiles had repeated, raising his eyebrows. “Why, exactly?”

Scott had sat up at that, and his arms were crossed stiffly over his chest. “Because you’re giving up, dude. You were in love with him, and we both know it, but things got hard, and you bailed out. That makes you an asshole, especially when the _reason_ things were screwed up between the two of was something that _you_ did.”

Stiles had gaped at him. He really hadn’t expected any of that. But the words made his blood boil, and his hands clench into fists. “You know, you really don’t get to tell me what to do with my love life, Scott. And, last time I checked, you aren’t exactly the kind of person who should be giving advice in that department. Didn’t you and your ex girlfriend cheat on each other before finally agreeing that it was best to break up?”

Scott’s eyes widened, and a hurt look crossed his face for just a second. “Go, then.” Scott said forcefully. “If it really makes you feel better to just give up on everything, then do it. I hope it makes you happy, I really do.”

Stiles smirked at him. “It does,” he had lied, and then he slammed the door behind himself.

That was two and a half weeks ago. They weren’t still fighting, exactly. Scott had apologized for calling him an asshole, Stiles had apologized for everything he’d said. But every time Stiles’ phone buzzed with a text, Scott made a face and looked away from him, like it was physically trying to not make a comment.

Stiles didn’t really think Scott had any right to say anything, not when Stiles hadn’t said a single word about Scott kicking him out of the room on more than one occasion to have Isaac over, or about that time he’d walked in on them (Isaac had a really nice ass, not that he looked-- for long).

“Are you seeing her when we go home?” Scott asked the day before they left for Spring Break.

Isaac was spending the holiday at Scott’s house, and they were driving back together. Stiles wasn’t left alone, though. In fact, he was driving back to Beacon Hills with _Jackson_.

He still wasn’t sure exactly how that happened. Isaac had asked Scott if it was okay for Jackson to get a ride back with them because he'd left his car back home at Christmas, and Scott had said yes, at first, but then he suggested that Jackson ride back with Stiles instead, that way Stiles wasn’t alone. And Stiles? He didn’t really get a say in it, because Isaac had quickly agreed and run off before Stiles could protest.

“Maybe,” Stiles admitted as he shoved a few shirts into a bag. He was going to pack ahead of time, for once, instead of hurriedly at the last minute. “Would you tell me not to, if I said yes?”

Scott sighed. “No,” he said quietly. “It’s not my place.”

Stiles nodded. “You’re right,” he agreed, noticing the pair of boxers in his hand. Batman ones, the ones he’d been wearing that first night with Derek. He decided not to pack them.

“So do you, like, like her?” Scott asked eloquently.

Stiles paused in his movements. “I don’t know,” he admitted, “kind of, I guess. It’s just-- it’s a lot easier than anything else I’ve had, you know? It’s simple, easy. It doesn’t have something weighing it down.”

“You mean it doesn’t matter.” Scott stated. “And what you had with Derek _did_ matter, and that was too hard for you, so you ran away from it.”

Stiles looked up at him slowly. Scott looked ready for another fight, jaw set, lips pursed. “Yeah,” Stiles agreed softly. “That’s what I mean.”

\--

“Don’t touch that,” Stiles snapped as Jackson’s fingers instantly went for the radio dial before he even pulled on his seatbelt.

Jackson glared at him but did up his belt instead.

“I don’t even know why you agreed to this,” Stiles commented as he pulled away from the dorms. “Why didn’t you tell Isaac no?”

“Because Isaac isn’t exactly subtle, and he said he wanted some alone time with Scott.” Jackson smirked.

Stiles groaned. “Seriously?” He shook his head. “It’s like they can’t get enough of each other. It’s disgusting.”

Jackson made a face. “It’s not just your room, you know.” Jackson told him. “I’ve seen way more of McCall than I’d ever like to.”

“They never should have switches rooms,” Stiles pointed out as Jackson’s hand twitched towards the radio dial again.

“Yeah,” he agreed.

“But then we’re still be rooming together,” Stiles mused.

Jackson shrugged, like he wouldn’t really mind, and Stiles kind of felt the same way. It wasn’t that he didn’t like rooming with Scott, it was just that he didn’t think he’d _hate_ rooming with Jackson again, either.

Stiles turned on the radio.

* * *

 

Laura sipped her coffee. She was surprised to find that the coffee shop she’d worked at as a teenager had been turned into a Starbucks. The price on the coffee was a _lot_ higher, and it didn’t taste nearly as good as the old place’s did.

But the guy behind the counter made up for that, she mused, subtly watching as said employee turned around to make someone else’s coffee. His jeans were really flattering. Laura smirked at herself as she drained the last of her coffee.

She had a meeting in ten minutes with the realtor. The one thing she’d initially specified was that she and Derek wanted as minimal involvement in the selling of their property as possible. That, apparently, meant that the realtor would go through all applications, work out price negotiations with them and then, at the end, have Laura come to Beacon Hills to meet with them twice, once to finish the negotiations, and once to sign over the property, and then the whole thing would be over. Finally.

Laura stood up and threw her empty cup in the garbage. She caught the eye of the guy behind the counter as she went, and he grinned at her. She winked at him before ducking out the door. She’d definitely have to go back there before she headed back home.

She walked across the street to Holson Real Estate. A bell chimed overhead and Laura resisted the urge to roll her eyes at it. She’d always hated those stupid bells.

The woman at the front desk looked up at her. “Can I help you?”

“I’m Laura Hale, I’m here to meet with Kelly Holson.” Laura told her.

The woman’s smile brightened considerably -- probably because of the nice chunk of money Laura was paying for their services-- and she gestured to the first door on the left. “Kelly will be with you shortly.”

Laura nodded and headed into the room. It wasn’t very big, but the entire building wasn’t exactly huge, so that wasn’t surprising. It was nicely decorated though, the walls painted a pale brown, carpet a nice cream colour.

Laura sat in one of the chairs surrounding the large table that was the centre piece of the room and pulled her cellphone from her pocket.

She tried really, really hard not to be the protective mother type to Derek, she really did. But it was even harder lately, after the way he’d opened up to her. Even just thinking about that made her stomach clench and her heart ache for him. But it also made her wonder-- how many other things did he have buried so deeply that even _she_ had no idea they were there? How many other things tore him apart because he kept them hidden?

Derek was all she had left in life, really. Sure, she had friends, unlike Derek, and she burned through boyfriends the way Derek’s flashy car burned through gas. But at the end of the day, none of them really knew anything about her. She never told them about her family, or about herself, about being a werewolf. That was like hiding half of yourself at all times, and it made it difficult to make connections to people.

So she had Derek, and Derek had her, and she _worried_ , alright? It was hard _not_ to worry about him. Derek was a very concern inducing person.

She was about to send a quick text telling him that she was in the meeting when the door opened and a short older woman with black hair that had to of been died multiple times, walked in, smiling brightly. “Laura, correct?”

Laura nodded and the women stretched out her hand. Laura accepted it, shaking it once. Her hands were clammy but soft and frail feelings. “I’m Kelly,” she said, settling herself into the chair at the head of the table. “We’ll just wait a few more minutes for our buyers.”

Laura nodded and settled back into her seat. “Do you know what they’re planning on doing with the property?” Laura couldn’t help but ask. She would sell it no matter what, but she hoped that whoever bought it wouldn’t tear down the all the trees on the property, or turn it into a business.

Kelly opened the folder that had been tucked under her arm. “They said they’d like to restore the house, actually.” Kelly said slowly. She looked up at Laura and smiled sadly. “It was a very beautiful home at one time.”

“It was,” Laura agreed quietly, in a tone that suggested Kelly not continue on with that subject.

Fortunately, there wasn’t a chance for her to, anyways, because the door opened and a couple walked in. The man was average looking, really, with short, light brown hair and unremarkable brown eyes. The girl was definitely more attractive, with darkish blonde hair and the kind of smile that was equal parts sharp and wicked, and open and friendly. Something nagged at Laura though, like a distant memory that wouldn’t come into a focus. She knew the girl from somewhere, she just wasn’t sure where.

Well, Beacon Hills wasn’t a very big place, after all, so it wouldn’t be all that surprising if this girl had went to Beacon Hills High around the same time as herself and Derek.

“Laura,” Kelly said, standing up and putting a friendly hand on the man’s arm. “I’d like you to meet--,”

“Katherine Wilson-- or, it will be, after June 3rd, won’t it, sweetie?” the woman said pleasantly, shaking Laura’s hand while simultaneously giving the man an adoring look.

“Nice to meet you,” Laura said politely.

“Now,” Kelly sat back down. “Let’s sell your property.”

\--

They didn’t sell the property. The boyfriend-- Carl, his name was-- was all for just buying the property. Katherine, on the other hand, had clutched his arm and whined pitifully through most of the meeting that she had to see _inside_ the place, first.

“We’re just going to tear it down,” Carl had insisted, while both Kelly and Laura sat there, Kelly doing a much better job to hide her annoyance than Laura had. “There’s no point to look inside.”

“Yes, but we might not _have_ to,” Katherine insisted. “We might be able to just renovate the place, keep the old foundation.”

Eventually Laura had snapped out, “Then we’ll all go look at it!”

Kelly had looked startled, but Katherine looked please. “We’d have to set up another appointment,” Kelly had said hurriedly. “And I’m booked until next weekend--,”

“The three of us could just go, couldn’t we?” Katherine asked, addressing Laura.

It took everything in Laura not to roll her eyes. Katherine was the exact type of girl that Laura didn’t get along with; she was simpering and fakely sweet, and she constantly looked to her boyfriend for assurance whenever she spoke.

“That’s fine.” Laura agreed, if only to get out of there.

“Wednesday at one a.m. before we come back here to sign the papers, then?” Katherine said.

“Do you know the way to the property, or do I need to give you directions?” Laura asked, holding back a sigh.

“Oh, I know the way just fine, thank you,” Katherine said with a smile, and it was that sharp smile again, not the too sweet one she’d been using since she sat down. “We’ll see you then.”

Afterwards, Laura had walked out, feeling both exhausted but also a bit grateful, because Derek hadn’t come with her -- despite how many time she asked him to-- and they’d avoided a big fiasco there. Derek would surely of flipped his lid, and Laura was pretty positive that Kelly’s calm façade would have slipped if Derek had ripped out Katherine’s throat during the meeting.

Katherine and Carl smiled at her as they walked to their car. Laura tried not to eavesdrop when Katherine’s cellphone rang and she raised a finger, waiting outside the car while her husband to be got in it.

“Stiles,” she said in greeting, and Laura froze. That was not a common name. In fact, it was definitely one of the weirdest she’d ever heard. “Yeah, I’m in town. I won’t be in half an hour, I’ve just got some things to take care of.” She paused and met Laura’s eyes, and Laura looked away and pretended to be reading the store-times of the restaurant she was standing in front of. “Yeah, I’ll meet you there.”

The second she heard the quiet clap of the cellphone closing, Laura turned and pretended to start walking towards her own car.

She knew that Derek and Stiles had broken up, or something like that. Derek didn’t talk about it, though, so she had no idea what happened. And even though Derek hid things very well, one thing Laura knew for fact was that Derek had been totally in love with the guy. And he’d made Derek happy, for the little time they’d spent together. Laura had even been fond of him. He was cute and funny, and anyone who took the scowl off her brother’s face was good in her books.

She’s decided to keep Katherine’s secret, both from her brother, and from Stiles. And for once, Laura kind of wished that she didn’t have the special werewolf hearing.

* * *

 

“The Lahey boy, he’s staying with Scott this time?” his father asked when he got home.

“I missed you, too,” Stiles said, rolling his eyes.

“Just wondering. Things were a little uncomfortable at Christmas, and now suddenly he’s staying there.”

He wasn’t all that surprised that his dad pieced that together. He wasn’t the sheriff for nothing. “They’re kind of dating,” Stiles admitted, hauling his bag higher up on his shoulder as he took a step towards the stairs. “It’s sort of a new thing, I guess.”

His dad nodded, apparently completely unfazed by this. “And what about you? You still seeing that, uh, Hale boy?”

Stiles turned towards the stairs so his dad wouldn’t see his face. “Not really,” he said casually, but his voice sounded thick even to his own ears. “Didn’t really work out, you know?”

His dad paused and Stiles started up the stairs. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said finally.

Stiles stopped midstep and shrugged without turning. “Not a big deal. I’ve kind of already moved on.”

“Oh,” his dad said quietly.

Stiles continued up the stairs before they could finish _that_ conversation. Plus, he was going to meet with Kate in half an hour. He didn’t have time to go over the whole chaotic situation that was currently his love life. And he didn’t have time to cry over Derek. Because he had a pretty bad feeling that, if his dad really coaxed the whole story out of him, that’s what would end up happening.

And that wasn’t _fair_ , because he was moving on! Thinking of Derek shouldn’t make his stomach clench, shouldn’t make him want to throw up that Taco Bell burrito he’d had for lunch. And it shouldn’t make him want to listen to the every Taylor Swift album in existence and cry. He was stronger than that.

Or he would be. Whatever. Eventually, he’d be able to think of Derek and not miss him. That day just wasn’t today.


	17. Chapter 17

Laura had an extra large coffee in her cup holder as she drove out to her old house. There was a circular piece of cardboard wrapped around the paper cup so that it didn’t burn your hand when you picked it up. Laura didn’t miss the name and number scribbled over hers, though, belonging to the cute boy who worked at the Starbucks.

Sadly, caffeine just didn’t work on werewolves the way it did humans, and she still felt exhausted and peevish. Especially considering what she was going to be spending the afternoon doing.

Laura might not have as many issues as Derek did, going back to her childhood home, but it still wasn’t easy. It would never be, actually, seeing her old, once beautiful home, now completely destroyed, along with almost everyone she cared about.

Laura sighed and parked the car out front and waited. Katherine and Carl would be there soon.

She considered sending a quick text to Derek, letting him know what she was doing, but decided that she’d just call him later. He’d still be annoyed either way. He didn’t like her checking up on him like he was a child.

Laura snorted loudly before getting agitated. She hated the silence, and way out there, there was nothing but the sound of her own breathing and the occasional chirp of a bird. She reached for the key in the ignition, about to turn it and put on the radio, when she heard the familiar sound of a car pulling onto the road leading up the house.

She wasn’t early, which meant that, technically, Carl and Katherine were late. They pulled up in the same car they’d been driving two days earlier, and Laura pulled her key from the ignition and got out of the car.

Carl gave the house a distasteful look when he got out, but Katherine looked way too happy for someone staring down a burnt down home. “So, are we going in side?” she asked, turning to Laura.

“I’m not sure if it’s safe,” Laura said honestly. Though for some reason she figured she wouldn’t really mind all that much if a rafter fell down on top of the other two. She’d heal, at least.

“I’m sure we’ll be fine,” Katherine said immediately.

Laura shrugged. “Alright,” she started towards the house, not needing to turn to know that they were following her. “I’m not really sure if it’s salvageable,” Laura commented as she climbed the porch stairs. Her mother used to decorate them with lights when she was younger. She felt a pang in her chest.

“We’ll still look, just to see,” Katherine said hurriedly.

Laura held back the snort that threatened to escape and put a hand on the doorknob. It twisted easily in her hands and then the door itself nearly fell off its hinges. “Shit,” Laura muttered, hand darting out to stop it from falling. She held it and smiled sweetly at Carl and Katherine. “After you.”

If she had to guess, she’d say that Carl wanted to be there about as much as she did. He kept throwing glares and annoyed looks at Laura, as if it were _her_ dragging them out there, and not the simpering blonde hanging off his arm.

“So, this was the living room,” Laura said quietly as they walked farther into the house.

She was regretting this whole thing wholeheartedly. She couldn’t look anywhere without remembering exactly how it used to look, before. In the corner would be the huge recliner that her father rarely moved from on weeknights, the one that Derek always sat in when it was unoccupied, because he liked to feel important. And then there was the couch, the one that she’d sprawl out on when she was home sick from school.

“And then the kitchen,” she said thickly, continuing on further down the hall.

“This doesn’t look nearly as bad as the front room,” Katherine commented. “It could be repaired, actually, without ripping up the entire room. Don’t you agree, Carl?”

Carl grunted.

“Is this a closet, or--,” Katherine turned the knob on the door to her left and Laura watched as her eyes took in the flight of stairs that led into the dark, nearly lightless room. “Oh, the basement.” She looked up at Laura with wide eyes. “Can we go down here? If we really do keep the house and just fix it up, instead of rebuilding from the ground up, I’d like to be sure that the basement is large enough to convert into a home gym.”

She would be the type with a home gym, Laura thought. Out loud she said, “there’s no windows down there, and the electrical doesn’t work, so there’s no light--,”

“Good thing I brought flashlights,” Katherine quipped up, pulling a large metal one from her back pocket. Laura refused to groan, though she wanted to desperately.

“You can go down,” Laura told her. “I’ll stay up here.”

Katherine gave her a surprised look. “But we don’t--,”

“I think we’d both feel more comfortable if you came with us,” Carl said, speaking up for the first time. “You know your way around better than either of us.”

Laura’s eyes narrowed on him. There was something off about his tone, or the way his lips were pressed tightly together. “Fine,” Laura said finally. “If you want me to go first I get the flashlight, though.”

Katherine smiled happily and handed it over. Laura had to suck in a breath. The basement was a room she hadn’t been in often even as a kid. She knew that, towards the left, near the back wall, there was a door with a barely noticeable knob that led to the cells under the house. The cells that had been used for the teenagers and kids during the full moons, when they couldn’t control themselves yet. And even, occasionally, the adults, if there was something wrong.

Of course, she’d have to sneak back there tomorrow or the next day, before the final sale, to seal it off. It couldn’t be that hard to do. Take the knob out, fill in the cracks, paint over the entire wall. Because there was no way she’d be able to explain those cells away.

The stairs creaked and groaned under the weight, and Laura seriously wondered if they were going to give out. Could she get in trouble for that, if they did, and someone got hurt? Hopefully not.

“So it’s not the largest basement,” Laura explained, shinning the light around the room, careful to avoid the hidden door. “But it should be fairly big enough for a gym, if that’s what you wanted.”

Katherine clicked her tongue. “Can I see the light?” She asked.

Laura handed it over and shoved her hands in her pockets. “There’s not really much else to see. The upstairs is mostly demolished, except on the right side, but I’m not sure if the main stairs are safe.” She lied. They looked a hell of a lot more sturdy than the rest of the house, actually. She just really, really didn’t want to be there. “So, should we go?”

“Just a moment,” Katherine said calmly.

Laura could easily see her in the dark, flashlight pointed outwards. She didn’t even have a moment of warning before the light was focused on the hidden door, and Laura froze.

“Huh,” Katherine frowned. “What does that lead to?”

“Nothing,” Laura said quickly. “That I know of. I’m not sure. We weren’t allowed down here as kids.” The lies fell easily from her mouth. “We should--,”

Katherine took a step forwards. “No, I’d like to take a look.”

Laura silently cursed. “I’ve got a date in half an hour, actually,” she said swiftly. “I should probably--,”

Laura was disoriented. One moment, her mouth had been open and she’d been speaking, and the next her whole body seized up and pain shot through her, shaking her at her core. She clutched her chest, scared, for a moment, that she was having a heart attack, or something similar. Then the pain receded for a moment, only to come back, just as strong and suddenly.

Laura fell to her knees, a shout ripping from her throat.

Katherine knelt down in front of her, flashlight pointed directly at Laura’s face. “I don’t think we’re been _properly_ introduced,” she said, smirking. “I’m Kate.”

The pain was too much that for a moment, the words didn’t register. When they did, Laura felt her control slip, and the sound that came from her was nothing close to human. It was low, a warning. A dangerous one. Kate only continued to smile.

“So he _did_ tell you.” She looked pleased. “Ah, I bet that was a real bonding experience for you two, really, finding out that your brother is the reason your whole family is dead.”

Laura tried to push off the ground. She would kill her! Without a seconds hesitation, if she could just _get up_ , she’d rip Kate’s throat out happily. But she couldn’t move, not with the constant aching burn going through her body.

“Now let’s _really_ find what’s behind this door,” Kate said, straightening. “Carl, make sure to keep the wattage high. This one’s a fighter, aren’t you?”

 

* * *

 

“Seriously?” Stiles sighed into the phone, fingers tapping along his computer desk in no particular rhythm. “But--,”

“I’m not bailing. It’s just that we’re having dinner with my mom.” Scott said apologetically.

Stiles groaned. “Didn’t you already do that, like, three times?”

“Yeah, but--,” he could hear the wobble in Scott’s voice. “We’re going to, you know, _tell_ her.”

Stiles frowned for a moment, confused, before he got it. “Oh, you’re going to sit her down over a plate of spaghetti and tell her that you and Isaac have been fuc--,”

“No!” Scott said forcefully. “God, what is wrong with you?” Stiles laughed and Scott chuckled, too, though much quieter. “And we-- we haven’t done that yet.”

Stiles blinked. That was … surprising, considering how much time Isaac and Scott spent locked in either Scott’s or Isaac’s room. “Huh,” Stiles muttered.

“It’s not like I don’t want to,” Scott said quickly. “And we’ve done _other_ things, just not, you know, _that_.”

Stiles leaned back in his chair. “Have you talked about it?”

“Not really,” Scott answered quietly. “It’s like-- we work up to it, and then suddenly one of us will back down, and we’ll end up sleeping, or watching a movie or something.”

“Do you have, you know--,”

“Lube?” Scott practically whispered.

“Oh my god, dude. Yes, lube.”

“Yeah,” Scott said slowly. “I just-- maybe we’re not ready yet. We’re taking it slow.”

Stiles didn’t laugh. “Good, if that’s what you’re both happy with. Just talk to him about this stuff though, man. Don’t just, like, avoid it.”

Scott snorted. “You give pretty good sex advice for a virgin.”

Stiles would have flipped him off, if Scott could see it. “Low blow.”

Scott started to say something but Stiles tuned out, catching the sound of someone knocking on the front door. “Someone’s at the door,” he said, standing up. “I’ll call you back.”

“I’ll call you after dinner,” Scott bargained. “And we’ll hang out after that.”

“’kay,” Stiles pulled open his bedroom door and started down the hallway and then the stairs. “But you better actually call.”

He hit the end button after Scott promised to call. The phone was still in his hand when he pulled open the door.

Until he met Derek’s eyes and, like some cheesy comedy sketch, it slipped from his fingers and fell to the ground. A loud cracking sound reached his ears and, really, he should have been worried about his poor phone. He wasn’t, though.

“Shit,” Stiles breathed.

Because Derek looked good. Obviously. When did the asshole _not_ look good? Answer: never. His stubble looked scragglier than usual, and his lips were pursed tightly, and Stiles had no freaking idea what he was doing, standing in front of Stiles‘ door.

“I need your help,” were the first words he’d heard Derek utter in months.

“What are you doing here?” Stiles demanded, keeping his eyes locked on Derek’s as he bent to pick up his phone.

“Is your dad home?” Derek asked, looking past him, as if he expected him to show up.

“No, but--,” that was all Derek needed to hear, apparently, because he pushed into the house.

Stiles’ heart was beating quickly in his chest, and he thought he might actually throw up, maybe. “What are you doing?” he repeated, kicking the door closed before following Derek, who walked into his hallway as if he belonged there, or was at least _allowed_ there. He wasn’t either of those things.

“I told you, I need your help,” Derek said, turning back to face Stiles. His hands were fists at his side, forearms bunching. “I tried the station, and they won’t do anything.” His voice sounded higher than usual, any of Derek’s normal calm indifference gone. “They said they _can’t_ , since she’s an adult, and all evidence points to her being fine, but--,”

“Derek,” Stiles said forcefully. “What--,”

_“Laura,_ ” he explained. He ran a hand through his hair and Stiles almost desperately wanted to put a comforting arm around him, but he couldn’t. That wasn’t-- he wasn’t allowed anymore. Actually, he never really was, was he? He and Derek hadn’t been the type to comfort each other, to be the other’s shoulder to cry on. And why that bothered him, he didn’t know. “She came down here a few days ago. We’re selling our old house, and she was meeting with buyers. She hasn’t called me since Wednesday. She’s texted, but--,”

“Then she’s probably fine,” Stiles said reassuringly. “Look, I’ve watched my dad deal with so many missing people’s cases, and when it comes to the ones your sisters age, usually they’re not really missing. They’re just too busy to call, or check in.”

Derek looked frustrated. “Look, this is _Laura_ , she _harasses_ me, and suddenly she comes down here and then she doesn’t call me for two days. I tried calling her once, after a few texts, and she just texted me back saying she was on a date, that she was busy but she’d call me later.”

“She probably _was_ ,” Stiles said reasonably. Over the years he'd watched his dad deal with countless people just like this, ones who he knew personally from around town, and his father's first rules were always to appear sympathetic but calm and reasonable. Right now, he tried to employ that, but it was hard, because he was too close to both Derek  _and_ Laura. 

Derek’s eyes narrowed. “I know my sister, Stiles. She’d call.”

Stiles still thought that, reasonably, Laura was probably fine. But Derek looked so panicked, so convinced, and he knew that what part of Derek was saying was true. From what he’d seen of their relationship, if something really was wrong, Derek would know.

“Okay, so what do you want me to do?” Stiles asked, resigned.

Derek’s eyes widened, like he didn’t actually expect Stiles to help him. “Your dad’s the sheriff, right, can’t you talk to him? Get them too--,”

Stiles raised his hand. “If you went to the station and they said they couldn’t do anything, neither can he. I’m sorry, Derek, I am, but there’s nothing he can do.”

Derek’s face went carefully blank. “Fine,” he snapped. “I don’t even know why I tried.”

Stiles’ mouth opened but Derek stormed past him. “Derek,” he tried to put a hand on Derek’s arm but Derek shrugged him off.

“Sorry for bothering you.” Derek said roughly, pulling open the front door. “I won’t do it again.”

The door closed between them and Stiles stared at it for a moment before squeezing his eyes closed and breathing slowly. Fuck, why did Derek have to set him on edge like that? And it wasn’t his _fault._ There really wasn’t anything his dad could do. In fact, it was against regulations for him to involve himself personally in a matter that the rest of the department had already dealt with.

But, maybe, there was something he could do. Possibly.

Stiles pulled out his cellphone and flipped through his contacts. Jackson answered on the third ring. “What?” he barked.

Stiles would have snorted or made an annoyed sound, if he had it in him. “I need a favour.” Stiles said quickly. “You still talk to Danny, right?”

Jackson _did_ snort. “Obviously, he’s my best friend.”

“Can you call him and ask him if he’s still good enough with technology to be able to track a phone for me?”

He could almost picture Jackson’s eyes narrowing in suspicion and confusion. “If you’re stalking Derek, I’m not--,”

“You’re an ass,” Stiles told him. “A friend of mine’s not answering her phone, and no one knows where to find her. I just want to see if maybe we can track where her phone is, so I can assure her brother that she’s fine.”

“Laura’s missing?” Jackson asked, tone no longer joking.

“Maybe,” Stiles admitted. “Derek’s convinced she is. I think she’s probably just too busy to answer her phone, but it’d help a lot if I could just assure him of that.”

“I’ll call Danny,” Jackson told him before hanging up without any warning.

Stiles went back up to his room and sat down at his computer chair, but he couldn’t sit still. He was supposed to hang out with Scott and Isaac for dinner and then, after that, he was meeting Kate for a movie.

Stiles flipped his phone around in his fingers a few times before sighing and pulling up her contact page. What he needed, really, was to stop thinking about freaking _Derek_. It wasn’t healthy. It really wasn’t. Not when he was supposed to move on.

Because of course Derek would talk to him because his sister was in danger. It wasn’t like he went to Stiles for comfort. It was a necessity, it had nothing to do with _Stiles_. He’d probably completely moved on in the way that Stiles had only pretended to.

“Hey,” Stiles said a few moments later when Kate picked up her phone.

“Hey,” Kate said breathlessly. “What’s up?”

Stiles frowned. “Um, so my friends bailed on me. Do you think we could move that date to a dinner one instead?”

Kate let out a breath. “I can’t,” she said, and she sounded genuinely disappointed in that fact. “I’m working right now, actually.”

Stiles raised his eyebrows. In all the conversations the two of them had, Kate never talked about what she did. “Really? What are you doing?”

Kate laughed. “I’m actually scouting real estate,” she said easily. “My brother’s thinking of expanding the family business, so I’m just checking out this property.”

Stiles tapped his fingers on his legs, still feeling agitated. “There’s no way you could slip away to go across the street or something for dinner? Where are you?”

“Can’t,” Kate told him. “I’m not in town. I’m actually out at the Hale house, you know the one that burnt down? Lots of property and, you know, since the fire, it’s going pretty cheap. It’s definitely a hot property, at the moment.” She laughed at her own joke.

Stiles forced one out in response, though he felt himself growing cold. “Right,” he bit the inside of his lip. “Tonight I guess, then?”

“Definitely,” she agreed. “Maybe you can even join me at my hotel room after.”

That should have made him excited, hearing those words. He should have been thrilled to be offered that opportunity. For some reason that he didn’t know -- or maybe he did, and he just didn’t want to think about it-- he barely reacted. “Sure,” he said, though he figured he’d just come up with an excuse not to later on. “I’ll talk to you then.”

“Goodbye, Stiles,” she answered.

Stiles placed his phone on his desk and leaned back in his chair. He really did wish that someone was free, because he hated having nothing to do but think. Hated being alone with his thoughts, because most of the time he couldn’t control them and, more than he’d like, they’d go back to Derek.

He was pretty pathetic, he knew. Whatever. He could live with that, if he could just _stop thinking of Derek_.

His phone shrieked and Stiles jumped before grabbing it. “Yeah?” he asked, noting that he sounded less calm than he should have.

“I spoke with Danny,” Jackson told him. “And he says that almost all phones have built in GPS now, and that it’s actually really simple to track a cellphone, in case you lose it, or someone steals it.”

Stiles nodded at no one. “Okay, so how?”

“Do you know what type of phone it is? You need that, and then you need their email and password to log into their phone account.” Jackson said slowly. “You said Derek was there, right? Does he know what they are?”

“He’s not here,” Stiles said quickly. “But I can call him. What else?”

“After that you just sign in on the phone company’s site, and then depending on which site, there should be a ‘track phone’ page.”

Stiles grabbed a pen and a piece of paper and quickly scribbled down what Jackson said. “I swear to god, I love you right now.” Stiles told him.

Jackson made a disgusted sound. “Just-- let me know if she’s okay, alright?”

Stiles grinned. “You care?”

Jackson snorted. “She’s the best waitress at that restaurant. I’m pretty sure the other guy spit in my food. Good workers are hard to come by.”

Stiles shook his head. “Whatever, but thanks. I’ll let you know.”

He hung up before they could get any farther into bro territory because, really, he’d rather not go there with Jackson. It was easier for them both to just act like they hated each other even if, deep down, maybe they didn’t.

Stiles looked down at what he wrote and then flicked through his contacts again. Derek’s number was still in there, under a blank name. He’d deleted it and re-added it from memory twice. He almost expected Derek to just ignore his call, but he answered.

“Wh--,” Stiles didn’t let him get the word out.

“Look, I called Jackson, because his friend Danny is really good with computers and shit. He says that if we can figure out what phone company Laura uses, and her email and password, we can track the location of her phone. If she is fine, then she’ll just think we’re both moderately creepy and stalkerish. If she _isn’t_ , we’ll have a place to start looking for her.” He said in one quick, rushed breath. He hoped that Derek wouldn’t pick up on the ‘we’ at the end and tell Stiles that he couldn’t help, because if something really was wrong with Laura, Stiles was helping. Whether Derek wanted him to or not.

Derek took a moment to process this. When he did he said, “AT&T.”

Stiles instantly pulled open Google Chrome and went to their site. “Okay, what about email address? Or username?”

Derek hesitated. “I don’t know,” he said. “Why would I know that?”

“You never send emails?” Stiles asked, though he wasn’t at all surprised when Derek answered with, “No, but I think-- try LauraPHale.”

Stiles tucked the phone against his shoulder and typed the name into the username. “Password?”

“How should I know that? Despite what you might think, I don’t know everything about her.” Derek said, sounding annoyed but also exhausted, like he was too tired to be dealing with this.

“Just try and think, we can try whatever comes to mind,” Stiles coaxed, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

He had a moment to wonder why he was doing this. He wished he could say it was because he was a good person, and he was worried about Laura. He was a bit worried, but he knew, deep down, that he was doing this for Derek. Because he still cared, and if it made Derek happy and proved that Stiles was right, that she really was okay and just busy, well, whatever. Win-win, right?

“It wouldn’t be a date,” Derek said, sounding as if he was talking more to himself than Stiles. “Any date she’d think of would probably only remind her too much of everything. Same with names. So it’d have to be numbers, or a word, or something, something that held meaning to her but not anything that--,” Derek paused. “Ice cream.”

Stiles frowned at the screen. “What?”

“Her password,” Derek sounded like he would have been laughing, if he wasn’t so worried. “Ice cream. Just try it.”

Stiles raised his eyebrows but typed the letters in and pressed enter. “Your sister is weird,” Stiles told Derek, but he was grinning at the screen. “Ice cream? Really?”

“She’s been addicted to the stuff since she was, like, seven.” Derek told him, chuckling quietly.

“What about you?” Stiles asked. “What’s your guilty pleasure?”

The line was quiet for a moment. “Right now, or just one that I have in general?”

Stiles’ tone was lower when he said, “Right now, I guess.”

“I don’t have one anymore.” Derek answered. “Can you hurry this up?”

Stiles blinked. “Right, sorry.” He scrolled quickly through the site. Danny’s instructions were pretty simple to follow. Stiles pulled up the map of Beacon Hills and then, there, almost completely out of town, was a little purple tack with the word, “Your phone is here!” written above it.

Stiles frowned. “It says she’s-- she’s at your house,” Stiles tilted his head. “Yeah, your old house.”

“Thanks.” Derek said quickly, and then the call ended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and leaving reviews! :)


	18. Chapter 18

Stiles stared down at his phone, and then outside, where it was already starting to get dark. His mind couldn’t stop reeling back to the conversation with Kate, the one he’d had just, like, ten minutes ago. Where she’d said she was… scouting for real estate, out at the Hale house.

Of course, that could easily be explained. Laura was selling the house, so she could be showing Kate around, looking at the property with her. That could also explain why Laura wasn’t answering Derek, because she was honestly busy.

But he had this really, really bad feeling. One that he couldn’t freaking explain away using facts and logic. One that had him getting out of his chair, grabbing a sweater and his keys.

He should call Derek, he knew. He should just wait for Derek to go check the place out and find Laura safe and sound. Except, for some reason, he didn’t think he would. Find her safe and sound, that is. For some stupid reason, he was starting to pick up on Derek’s anxiety from earlier, because he didn’t think Laura was okay at all, now.

And if she wasn’t, then what was Derek walking into? And what did Kate have to do with any of it?

He wouldn’t be able to live with himself, he knew, if something happened to _either_ of them, and he didn’t do anything to try and help. If Derek were to get hurt because Stiles had just shrugged him off, Stiles would hate himself for life. He’d never get over it.

Stiles sighed and got into his jeep, pausing only to send a quick text to his dad, telling him that a friend of his may or may not be in trouble, and that he was heading out to the Hale house to make sure that she was okay. That way, if there really was something wrong, someone would know where they were.

It took him ten minutes to drive out to the Hale house, and an extra five to actually find the right turn off, because he drove past it twice.

Stiles wasn’t an overly suspicious or cautious person, surprisingly enough, considering his dad was a _cop._ Still, he didn’t drive all the way up to the house. Instead, he parked along the road and walked through the thick forest.

That was a really bad idea, apparently, because there were a _lot_ of trees, and it was getting dark to the point where the sun struggled to leak past the foliage.

He was about to pull his phone out of his pocket to help him see when a beacon of light caught his eye. Did they even have power out here? No, they probably didn’t. There was no way the electrical in that house still worked, so where the hell was that light coming from?

Stiles stumbled towards it, nearly tripping on every single branch that covered the ground. When he got close enough he realized that the light was definitely not coming from the house. In fact, it was coming from a little hill in the ground that had a barred window carved out of it.

Stiles continued towards it, frowning. What the hell was that? And why was it way out here, too far from the house to be the basement?

And then the sounds reached his ears. There was one long, high pitched whining sound and then, following it, another high pitched sound, this one a light, girly laugh. One that he recognized. One that hadn’t ever before brought goosebumps to his arms, but now it did.

Stiles crouched down, trying to stay as quiet as possible, and awkwardly attempted to shuffle towards the little window. A hand touched his arm and he jumped up, a scream attempting to rip itself from his lungs. It barely made any noise, though, because a hand curled over his mouth, silencing him.

Stiles moved to kick backwards, to fend off his attacker, when a familiar voice hissed in his ear, “I’m not going to hurt you, be quiet.”

Stiles went to turn around to face Derek, but Derek’s hand dropped from Stiles’ mouth to his stomach, holding him in place, keeping his back firmly pressed against Derek’s chest.

“What the hell is going on?” Stiles demanded, careful to keep his voice as low as possible. “Derek--,”

“I need to see who’s in there,” Derek said quietly. “I’m going to let you go, and you’re going to go home, Stiles.”

Stiles did turn then, throwing Derek’s arm off him. “No,” he said firmly. “No way. Not until you tell me what the hell is going on and what--,” he cut off when another sound came through the window, this time low, thick, _growling_ , and totally fucking terrifying. It seemed to reverberate through everything, shaking him. He wanted to cover his ears to make it stop when it did so, abruptly.

And then Derek put a hand on his arm, fingers curling around it, squeezing so hard Stiles knew he’d have bruises in the shape of finger tips later on. And his face-- he looked destroyed, terrified and, underneath that, scary. Like the type of man who was about to commit murder.

And Stiles? Fuck, he should he yanked out of Derek’s grip again and _ran_. He should have gotten out of there _fast_ , because Derek didn’t look like he was going to stop at whoever was in that house. He looked like he was going to take a chunk out of every single person he laid eyes on. Starting with Stiles.

But instead he lifted his free hand and cupped Derek’s cheek. Derek’s eyes flicked from the window to Stiles’, and then he just slumped, his whole body almost giving out to the point where Stiles had to put an arm around him to keep him upright.

“Hey,” Stiles said softly, using the hand belonging to the arm _not_ holding Derek up to touch his face again. And maybe he didn’t have any right to, maybe Derek would normally throw him off, but he really didn’t care. If he could do anything to get that haunted look off Derek’s face, he’d do it. “Derek, come on. You need to tell me what the hell is going on so I can _help_.”

Derek blinked at him, slowly, and then straightened himself. His vulnerable expression smoothed over to one of calm determination. “I need to find out who’s in there,” he said again, and he moved so that he was once again standing behind Stiles, this time a hand on Stiles’ waist. “I’m covering your mouth again,” he whispered in Stiles’ ear. “Don’t freak out. I just don’t want them to hear you.”

Stiles tried not to get a little offended by that, and failed. But he allowed Derek to shuffle them forward, not going direction for the window but instead a little to the left of it, so they could crouch down and peer into it.

Derek’s hands didn’t leave him at all the whole time, and when Derek pulled him down so that he was kneeling on the ground, wet earth soaking into his jeans, Stiles didn’t make a sound. The two of them craned their necks around to peak into the window.

At first, Stiles didn’t really understand what he was seeing. It was more than bright enough for the entire small room (about the size of his bedroom) to be completely illuminated. There were people inside, too. Two standing in the middle of the room, another hanging, slumped, from the wall.

And Stiles definitely would have gasped at that alone, if it weren’t for Derek’s hand over his mouth. But when he really focused in on the person hanging against the wall, he jerked backwards, falling against Derek, knocking him onto his back so that they were both sprawled out, Stiles on top of Derek, Derek’s arms around his waist keeping him from rolling off.

“Oh my--,” Derek’s hand found his mouth again instantly which, he knew faintly, was a good thing. But he just couldn’t see it that way, not when he was-- he was freaking out. Just a bit. Internally.

Because that had been _Laura_ , hanging against the wall. Laura, in a pair of bloodied, ripped, muddy jeans. Laura, whose bare arms (wearing nothing but a tank top with the jeans) were littered with gashes and bruises and more dirt. Laura, whose hair hung limply and whose face had only lifted just once, for the barest hint of a second, to meet Stiles’ eyes.

Except that wasn’t Laura’s face, or Laura’s eyes, who looked back at him. No, the eyes were _red_. Bright, blood red, and terrifying. And her face was contorted, her teeth bared. Except, no, those hadn’t been teeth. Those had been _fangs_ , long, yellowing, despite the fact that Stiles _knew_ Laura’s teeth were pearly white.

Another impossibly loud growl ripped through the forest and Stiles just knew, without looking, that it had come from her. It had come from Laura, or whatever that thing that looked like Laura was.

“Stiles,” Derek said quietly, lifting himself up. He kept Stiles cradled in his arms but didn’t move him so that they could face each other. “Calm down.”

Stiles shook his head wildly, and tried to pry Derek’s fingers from around his mouth. When that failed, he tried to get up, only the knowledge that it was _Derek_ holding him keeping him from lashing out wildly.

God, what the hell did he just see? What the hell _was_ she? What--

His mind supplied one word, and he regretted all those times he’d watched stupidly cheesy old horror movies just for fun. Because, if he had to, he thought he could take a pretty good guess at what she was.

_Werewolf_. Except, no, that didn’t make sense. He wasn’t stupid, he knew that-- that that wasn’t possible. He did. But the word kept repeating itself in his mind, over and over, occasionally accompanied by another loud growl or whine, and Derek whispering soothingly in his ear.

Werewolf. She was a _werewolf_ , right? That was-- that was the only explanation. The only thing that fit. And he was terrified, heart pounding in his chest, fingers curling and uncurling around Derek’s wrists without even realizing he was holding it.

But no, that was _Laura_. The same girl who’d given him Derek’s number with a wink. The same one who, so many months ago, had pushed he and Derek together at that party. Who had sat on Derek’s counter, eating ice cream with him before badgering him about his intentions with her brother. Who had rented the Iron Man movies from them. Who had called a soft, “I love you!” over her shoulder to Derek when she left.

The one whose hair was usually shinny, whose smile was usually bright and sweet and open. Whose freaking password was _ice cream_ , like she was ten years old. Who-- who he wasn’t afraid of at all, except maybe when it came to Derek.

Stiles felt his ragged breathings calm a bit, and he relaxed against Derek’s hold until Derek’s fingers slipped from his lips, gently caressing his face before dropping from him to the ground.

“You-- you need to-- we need--,” Stiles paused and tried to form a proper sentence together in his head, first. “You need to tell me what’s going on, Derek. All of it.”

“Not until I get Laura out of there,” Derek said roughly, easily pulling Stiles up along with him. “I don’t know how long she’s been there, but Kate--,”

“Kate?” Stiles whispered, turning around to face him. “What does she have to do with any of this?”

“She’s in there with--,” Derek broke off and he looked at Stiles with wide eyes. “How do you know her?”

Stiles shuffled uncomfortably. This really wasn’t the time nor place to tell Derek that he was seeing someone else to try (and fail miserably) to get over him. But she-- she was in there, with Laura? Why? Was she a-- a werewolf too, or…?

It was too much. Just too freaking much, and Stiles just wanted to run home and curl up in his bed and never, ever wake up again, because he’d rather not have to deal with _any_ of this. But he didn’t have a choice. Not now, anyways.

“I met her through Scott’s ex-girlfriend, Allison,” Stiles said quietly. “We went out a few times. We were supposed to have a date tonight, so I called her, but she said she was busy out here, looking at real estate. That’s why I came. When I found out Laura was here, something just seemed-- off.”

Derek’s expression was unreadable as he took that in. “Did you two--,” he stopped himself and ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t have time for this. I need to--,”

“Tell me what’s going on, so I can help.” Stiles interjected, repeating the same words for what felt like the tenth time. “Tell me.”

Derek’s eyes flicked from his back to the window and then back again, over and over, before he sighed. “I don’t have time to tell you everything,” he said quietly. “Not now. If you want to talk to me after, we can, but at the moment all you need to know is that Kate is _dangerous_ , Stiles. Stay away from her, do you hear me?”

Stiles nodded. “But what-- what’s this got to do with Laura? And why do they have her down there?”

Derek growled roughly, “Because they’re going to kill her. I think they’re just waiting for her to lure me here, first.”

Stiles’ eyes widened. “Why?” He asked, hoping he was keeping his voice low, because he felt that same panic start up again. “Why would they--,”

“Because they’re hunters, Stiles. Is that what you wanted to hear? They hunt people, like me and Laura. And they don’t care that we’re people, too. That was have families, and lives, and that we’re not dangerous animals. They don’t believe that, so they try and kill us, just like she killed my family years ago, and now she’s back to finish it what she started.”

Stiles sucked in a breath. There were a million questions, all racing through his mind, battling to come out. But he couldn’t ask them right then. Couldn’t get them all out. Because Derek was right, they didn’t have time. Not when Laura was in there, looking already like she was only seconds away from death.

So Stiles did what he had when his mother first died. When everything hurt too much to think, when he had to learn to get over it. He sucked it up, like he had then, when he needed to be strong for his dad, when he needed to hold it all together because he wasn’t the only one who was broken up about it.

He balled his hands into fists and looked at Derek. “Tell me how to get in there,” he said determinedly. “Tell me how I can get into that room.”

“In the basement,” Derek said automatically. “There’s a door against the left wall but-- you’re not going in there, Stiles. You’re going to go home and eat dinner with your dad, and act like everything is normal.”

Stiles barked off a quiet laugh. “I don’t think so,” he said firmly. “I’m helping. Because you just told me that the only thing keeping Laura alive right now is the fact that they’re waiting for _you_. So if you go in there-- what? They kill you both? I don’t fucking think so.” He repeated. “I’m going down there.”

Derek looked furious and frustrated. “And what are you going to do? Ask them nicely not to hurt her?”

Stiles shook his head. “I’m going to talk to Kate,” he said slowly. “And I’m going to get her out of there. And then you’re going to find a way to get in that window while they’re distracted, and you’re going to grab Laura and go. My car’s not far from here. You can take my keys and wait for me, or just take her somewhere. I don‘t care. I can walk back.”

Derek’s mouth opened but he didn’t speak for a few moments. “You think she can be reasoned with,” Derek spoke finally. “But she can’t, Stiles. And she’s not going to stop just because you showed up there. I don’t care if you-- if you’re dating, or what. It’s not going to make a difference. If you get in the way of this, she _will_ take you out, too.”

Stiles raised his eyebrows and tilted his head to the side. “Okay,” he said quietly. “Say you’re right, say I can’t reason with her. Then I won’t. If I have to, I’ll make sure that I’m fine, and that there’s a way for us to get Laura out of there.” His lips twisted down in a frown. “Derek, trust me. Okay? Just this once. I need you to just-- just trust me. Because if you go in there, and something happens to you, I-- I don’t know, okay, because I can’t even deal with thinking about that.”

Derek looked at him steadily for a minute, and Stiles noted the way his hand twitched, like he was about to reach out and touch him. He kept it at his side, though, and sighed loudly. “You have five minutes,” Derek said quietly. “And then I don’t care, I’m coming in there.”

Stiles smiled. “Deal.”

He turned to go but a hand on his arm stopped him. “Just-- be careful, okay?” Derek said, and he looked uncomfortable just saying the words. “I don’t know how well you know her, but Kate’s-- she’s not what she acts like.”

“And don’t _you_ do anything stupid,” Stiles replied.

And despite everything going on, despite the entire fucked up situation, Derek’s lips twitched up in a small smile. “I’ll try not to,” he answered. He let go of Stiles’ arm but turned him. “You’re going the wrong way,” he added. “The house is that way. Just go straight.”

Stiles nodded and resisted the urge to turn around and kiss Derek, hard and relentless, and never let go. But he couldn’t. Not only because it wasn’t exactly morally right to do that when Laura was-- when she was still in danger, but also because he didn’t know if Derek would want him to.

But Stiles wanted to kiss Derek all the time, he thought as he walked towards the house. He wanted Derek all the time. Even when he tried to tell himself that he _didn’t._

God, he was such an _asshole_. He really was. He called Derek emotionally constipated, but what did that make him? When he walked away because he couldn’t deal with the prospect of getting hurt. When he refused to try because there was a chance his heart could get broken. When he couldn’t tell Derek that night in the car that he _loved_ him. That he wanted Derek, always, any way that Derek would give it to him.

Stiles didn’t see any cars out front of the house, but even in the dark he could see the tire tracks that looked way too fresh. There were two pairs, coming from the driveway, and then they disappeared around the back of the house. If he had to guess, he’d say that Laura’s car would be back there. He didn’t have time to go look, though.

Stiles carefully climbed the porch steps, wary of their decayed state. They held, though, surprisingly.

The front door was wide open, leaning against the wall as if it’d broken off. Stiles stepped past it carefully, but he’d abandoned any idea of attempting to be quiet. He _wanted_ to be loud.

His feet stomped loudly over the floor and it took him a minute to find the door to the basement. When he did, he pulled out his phone and used the light to see.

“This looks safe,” he muttered to himself as he walked down the stairs. They creaked loudly under his weight and he held his breath until he, thankfully, got to the bottom uninjured.

“Kate!” Stiles called while shinning the light of his phone towards the left wall. That’s where Derek said the door would be, right?

He was still freaking out a bit. There was too much going on, too much that needed to be done, though, for him to actually have a proper freak out. That was the only thing keeping him upright and from running away. Later, he promised himself, when Laura was fine and she and Derek weren’t in danger, he would go home, run a hot shower, and cry and scream and panic and just generally freak the fuck out. Because it needed to be done. It was threatening to be done right then, actually, but somehow he was keeping it all together just as long as he could.

No one answered him, and he shone the light of his phone around the room. The door Derek was talking about wasn’t easy to find, and he stumbled upon it more accidentally than anything when he was walking alongside the left wall and his hip bumped the knob.

He sucked in a deep breath and turned it. The door opened up into a cave-like hallway. It was damp, with low ceilings, but was surprisingly well lit, considering.

He could faintly hear that whining growling still, but it was muffled by whatever door separated them. “Kate!” Stiles shouted again.

There was a loud slamming of a door, and then the clap of shoes on cement, and suddenly Kate was in front of him. Her hair was a little messier than she usually kept it, and there was a sheen of sweat on her skin. Her eyes, though, were bright and happier than Stiles had ever seen them, despite the fact that the rest of her expression was borderline hostile.

“What are you doing?” Kate hissed.

Stiles shoved his hands in his pockets. He really hadn’t thought this whole thing though but, hell, he’d talked his way out of so many things in his life, he figured he could do it now. Just wing it, he told himself.

“I was with my dad at the station,” Stiles said quickly. “He’s, you know, the sheriff.” The widening of her eyes said that no, she didn’t know that. “And he got a call saying there was a disturbance out here, and that they thought someone was in trouble, and you told me you were out here, so I got here as quick as I could. I couldn’t find your car, though, or anyone upstairs, so I tried the basement, and that door down there was wide open.”

“Stiles,” she groaned. “Do I _look_ like the type of girl who needs to get rescued?”

Stiles shrugged. “Not really,” he admitted truthfully. “But I was worried about you.” He lied.

Kate’s eyes softened. “You’re so cute,” she told him. “But you need to go. Now.”

“But--,”

“You have no idea what you’re dealing with right now!” She snapped. “Go home. I’ll call you later.”

And she went to turn, but then another growl ripped through the air, and Stiles jumped on the opportunity. “What was that?” He asked, running after her. “Kate, what--,”

Kate whirled and her expression was slightly manic, a smile on her face, eyes wide. “You asked,” she said. “So don’t freak out when you get the answer.”

Stiles frowned but followed her. They walked past two closed doors and then Kate paused in front of the last one and pulled it open.

The room looked a bit larger from inside. And Laura looked a lot worse, closer up. Her skin was inflamed, bright pink everywhere, like she’d been scrubbed raw, or had a sunburn. But she wasn’t the only one in the room. Derek was standing there, facing the open door, and there was a crumpled body laying at his feet. Stiles forced himself not to examine that too much.

It took Stiles longer to take all this in than it did Kate, and within the beat of a second she had a gun in her hand and trained it on Laura.

“Make a move and I shoot her right in the head,” Kate told Derek. “And this bullet’s laced with wolfsbane.”

Derek made an inhuman sound and crouched down, moving to put himself between Laura and Kate, but Kate popped the safety on the gun and her finger pressed down on the trigger. The bullet missed Laura by inches. “Do you want to try that again?” Kate asked. “Stop moving.”

Stiles looked between the gun and the three other people in the room. Laura’s eyes were on him only. They weren’t red anymore, but her normal hazel colour.

Stiles had always been a curious kid, and he spent way more time following his dad to crime scenes, or to the station, than he could count. He’d seen so many things, like a gun shot victim when he was thirteen, to that guy who’d nearly died in a fire. But he’d never seen someone look so helplessly broken.

Laura had a pleading look on her face, and her eyes darted from Stiles’ to Derek, who was watching Kate, with purpose. _Get him out of here,_ it screamed. But he couldn’t do that.

“Kate,” Stiles said quietly. “What’s going on?”

Kate flicked back her hair with her free hand but didn’t take her eyes off Derek. She laughed, throaty and loud, and it was so wrong in the situation that it made him feel cold. “You asked what I did,” she answered, not turning to him. “I lied. I usually keep this for later on in the relationship. Most people can’t handle it. But apparently you can, or you don’t really have a choice, anyways.”

“Kate,” Stiles said again, trying to mimic his father’s calm voice, the one he used when talking to a spooked victim, though Kate was neither of those things.

“You need to understand,” Kate said, gun not wavering an inch. “I’m the good guy here. It probably doesn’t look that way,” another laugh. “But that’s because I’m the one holding the weapon. They’re holding theirs back, aren’t you?”

“You can’t shoot both of us before I rip your throat out,” Derek told her, and Stiles spared him a quick look.

Honestly, Derek kind of terrified him at that moment, like he had outside, when he looked capable of anything. But Stiles knew that he wasn’t the one in danger there.

“See?” Kate said. “You have no idea what these things are,” she told him. “They look human, but they’re not. They’re rabid animals. Capable of things you couldn’t dream of. And that’s why they have to be taken out.”

Stiles put his hand back in his pocket, feeling around for something. “What are they?” He asked as calmly as he could. His voice shook just a bit, but not enough for her to realize, he hoped.

“Werewolves,” she spat. “Human mutations. They’re dangerous. They could wipe out this entire city in a matter of days, if they wanted. That’s why my family, we hunt them. We keep people like _you_ safe.”

Stiles swallowed. “They don’t look--,”

“Show him!” Kate bellowed. She took a step towards Laura. “Show him.”

Laura lifted her head feebly. “No.”

But Derek, apparently, felt differently.

Stiles felt on the brink of fainting and, sadly, that wasn’t the first time he’d felt that way that day.

Derek’s face, in a matter of seconds, went from handsome and angular, with just the right amount of stubble, to horrible and contorted. His mouth was open, though from necessity or show, he wasn’t sure, revealing sharp, yellowing teeth. Teeth that looked like they could have bit through anything, including bone. And his eyes flashed a bright, blinding blue, and Stiles stumbled backwards.

“See!” Kate shouted. “Do you see what they are?” she trained the gun on Derek, instead. “I’ve got a history with this one, though, don’t I, Derek?” Stiles could hear the smile in her voice. “Though I prefer you without the fangs.”

Derek moved, not quick enough, and another shot rang out, deafening him momentarily. Derek’s leg gave out and blood quickly pooled on his jeans. “Bitch,” he hissed, and Stiles felt the panic starting up again.

“Ah ah ah, Derek.” Kate cooed. “Didn’t I tell you not to move?” She waved the gun at him. “You should go,” Kate said, sparing Stiles her first glance since he’d entered the room. “I need to finish something I started a long time ago.”

“You can’t just kill them, Kate,” Stiles said quietly, trying to stuff down the panic again. He stepped towards her. “Come on, put the gun down.”

“If I put the gun down, we both die.” She said firmly. “You think they’ll stop at me, but they won’t. I told you, they need to be taken out.”

“Like my family?” Derek questioned, his voice high, tight, probably from the pain. “Like the way you burned the house down around them, not caring that there were _kids_ inside?”

Kate shrugged. “It was necessary. Your kind can’t be let to live. You should know that, Derek. I did what I had to do. What I was _taught_ to do. Don’t act like _I’m_ the bad guy here.” Stiles could see the side of a smirk on her face. “God, don’t blame me because _you_ were the idiot who fell in love with a hunter. Because _you_ hid it from your family, pretending that we were Romeo and Juliet, kept apart by our families, held together by love.” She snorted. “You were pathetic then, and you’re pathetic now, and this time, you’re going to die.”

She raised the gun to his head, and Derek didn’t make any move to get out of the way. Kate’s finger pressed down on the trigger and Stiles had a second to act.

He grabbed whatever was closest to him-- the lamp lighting up the room- and swung it. It hit Kate in the back of the head, hard, and she crumpled. The gun went off before she fell, though, but Stiles didn’t know if it hit or not. His arms shook with the force of the swing, and the lamp fell out of his hands and hit the ground, smashing into pieces, plunging the room into darkness.

“Derek!” Stiles shouted. “Derek!”

“I’m fine,” Derek said roughly, and he sounded closer than he had been when the lights went out. “The bullet missed. Get out of here.”

“But--,”

“Go!” Derek bellowed. “Get to your jeep and wait for us, I need to get Laura out of here.”

Stiles stumbled backwards towards the door when Laura’s voice stopped him. “Don’t go,” she said. “Stiles, stay right where you are.”

“No,” Derek protested.

Stiles felt torn.

“Stiles, don’t you--,” she gasped in a breath. “--dare move, you hear me?”

“Yeah,” Stiles answered because, no matter how terrifying Derek had looked just seconds before, Laura had the kind of voice that demanded to be obeyed.

“Why the hell are you telling him to stay?” Derek demanded, and his voice now came from the same place Laura’s did.

“Because,” Laura said quietly, like that little amount of shouting had taken the last of her energy. “If he goes, you’re going to kill her.” Her words had little gaps between them, like she couldn’t get enough breath to say them all at once. “You won’t do it with him here. And you can’t kill her.”

A growl sounded through the room. “Laura--,”

“No, Derek,” she ordered, and even in the dark he couldn’t miss the glowing red of her eyes. “If you kill her, they’ll never stop hunting us. Don’t you get that? They’ll stop at nothing to avenge her death. We’ll never be able to live a peaceful life again. Do you want that?”

“And you think she’ll stop?” Derek shot back. “She won’t--,”

“ _Guys_ ,” Stiles broke in, because he really, really couldn’t listen to them argue about whether or not they were going to kill the girl that, just a few hours ago, Stiles had been planning on dating. Not that he would even consider it now, not after everything, but still. There was only so much he could take before he cracked, and he was so close to cracking. “We need to go. She’s going to wake up soon, and I texted my dad.”

There was a quiet thud and a hiss of pain, like Laura had finally been released from the cuffs holding her to the wall. Someone grabbed his arm in a tight grip -- definitely Derek-- and the pulled open the door.

“You lied,” Stiles gasped, eyes widening as the hallway lighting illuminated the large, growing spot of blood on his chest. “She hit you--!”

“I’ll be fine,” Derek ground out. “We need to go before the police get here. I’m going to put you both in the Jeep and then I’ll come back here and figure out what to do with Kate.”

“No!” Stiles said quickly.

He felt like he was going to throw up all over Derek’s blood stained clothes. “I-- I think I can help,” he added as they shuffled through the hall. Stiles pulled out of Derek’s grip. He needed to worry about Laura. Stiles was fine.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and then pressed a button. "' _The way you burned the house down around them, not caring that there were kids inside?_ ’” Derek’s voice, sounding tiny and hollow echoed through the hallways. “ _’It was necessary. Your kind can’t be let to live.’_ ”

“You taped it,” Laura breathed, eyes wide.

Stiles moved ahead and held open the door to the basement. He tried not to look to closely at Laura, tried not to take in every single wound that littered her body. “I watch a lot of cop shows,” he admitted. “And-- I can give this to my dad. She admitted to it, to the fire, and to trying to kill you both. That should be enough to have her put away.”

“I could kiss you,” Laura sighed as Derek started hauling her up the stairs, arm around her waist. “But I doubt you’d want me to, and Derek might get jealous.”

Stiles nearly fell up the stairs. He felt the adrenaline slipping away, and is body felt exhausted and worn, like he’d just run for miles without break or hydration, capable of passing out at any second.

When they got onto the main floor, Derek paused and turned to look at Stiles. “We can’t hand that in,” he said quietly. “Not with all that she said about us.”

Stiles shook his head. “No, we can.” He said determinedly. “They’ll think she’s crazy, sure, but the chances of someone actually believing her, believing that-- that werewolves-- that--,”

And there it was, his cracking point. He had just enough time to put his back against the wall and then his legs gave out. “I’m-- I’m just going to sit here,” Stiles said, pulling his legs up to his chest. He covered his head with his hands.

“Stiles,” Laura sounded concerned. Or he thought she did. He wasn’t really sure what was real and what wasn’t anymore. “Carry him. I can walk.”

He had panic attacks when he was younger, after his mom died. This was not one of them. This was different. It felt different, at least. This was totally fucking called for. Anyone would freak out after what had just happened, right?

Stiles struggled to get in a breath. His lungs felt constricted, and his nails dug into his scalp almost painfully, except he couldn’t really feel them. Couldn’t really feel anything, actually, other than a pair of strong, wide hands on his shoulders, and then his arms, and then he was being lifted.

Stiles didn’t even have the sense to wrap his legs around Derek to help keep himself upright. He was deadweight in Derek’s arms, struggling to calm himself.

“I’m okay,” he said quietly. “I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay.” His eyes were closed but he felt Derek walk down the steps, and then across the lawn of the house. “Fuck, I’m fine. Totally fine. Werewolves,” he breathed. “Werewolves. Fucking _werewolves._ What is my life?”

He lost time, then. One minute he was in Derek’s arms, and the next he was curled up on the seat of his jeep. “Shit,” Stiles sat up straighter. He couldn’t see Laura, but Derek was in the driver’s seat, watching the road. “Shit,” he said again, and then added, “fuck,” for good measure.

“I’m taking Laura to the hotel, and then I’m bringing you to the hospital,” Derek told him.

Stiles shook his head quickly and noted in the back of his mind that someone -- most likely Derek-- had put on his seatbelt for him. “Don’t,” he said, and his voice sounded raw, like he’d been screaming. Maybe he had. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah,” Derek turned to look at him. “You’ve been saying that for the last ten minutes. Over and over again.” He sounded almost as freaked out as Stiles felt.

Stiles sucked in a breath. “I’m just-- it’s just a lot to take in, okay?” Stiles tried to sound calm and reasonable. He did not want to go to the hospital. He hated that place. “I think I’m taking this fairly well, all things considered.”

“I agree,” Laura piped up from the backseat. “He didn’t even cry.”

“See?” Stiles sad. “I didn’t even cry!”

“You’re in shock,” Derek told him slowly, enunciating each word carefully. “I’m taking you to the hospital.”

“I’m not,” Stiles said quickly. “Derek, please, don’t, okay? I can deal. I can totally fucking deal, just let me do it on my own time, okay?”

Derek’s eyes flicked from the road -- they were almost downtown, now-- to Stiles. He looked like he wanted to reach out and touch him, but was refraining himself. “Stiles.”

“Why aren’t you taking Laura to the hospital?” Stiles shot at him. “She’s the one--,”

“I’ll be fine,” Laura said from the backseat. “I just need a shower. Or a long bath. And a lot of alcohol. I _can‘t_ go to the hospital.”

Derek looked at her in the rear view mirror. “You’re not fine,” he said to her, too.

Stiles and Laura both snorted at him. “You‘re the one who was shot,” Stiles pointed out. And then it really sunk in that Derek had been _shot_. “Oh my god, you were shot. Twice, and--,”

“Already healed.” Derek ground out. “I‘m fine.”

Stiles tilted his head back so that he was facing the rough of the jeep and breathed slowly, his eyes closed, until he felt calm again. Because every time he finally felt like he was getting his bearings, Derek ripped the ground out from under him.

“Just-- go to the hotel, and I’ll drive myself home, alright? I just need to think, and sleep, and I’ll-- I really will be fine. I will.”

They pulled into the hotel lot as Stiles spoke, and Derek parked the car in the lot, and then closed his eyes and curled his fingers tightly around the steering wheel. “You weren’t supposed to find out like that,” Derek said quietly. “Or at all, even. I--,”

“You weren’t going to tell me,” Stiles guessed.

“I’m just going to go inside,” Laura said quickly.

Stiles and Derek both turned to her. “No, go with her.” Stiles told Derek. “Make sure she’s okay, alright? Stop worrying about me. In about an hour or two, I’ll find this whole thing totally fucking awesome -- I mean, _werewolves?_ \-- I just need to calm down and process everything first.”

Derek didn’t look like he was buying that.

“You need to take care of your sister,” Stiles said roughly. “Okay? So do that. I can take care of myself, Derek, I’m not some fragile thing that’s going to freaking break because of a stressful situation. I’ve dealt with worse. I watched my mom slowly die in a hospital until you couldn’t even tell she was the same person anymore. I watched my dad drink every night for months, watched him hate himself more and more each day. Compared to that? This is nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” Derek said quietly, still staring out the windshield.

“No,” Stiles agreed. “But it’s bearable. I can deal. Just go.”

Derek’s fingers uncurled from around the steering wheel, and the backdoor opened, signalling Laura getting out of the car. She waited just outside, though. Stiles was pretty sure she was a lot worse for wear than she was letting on. She was just trying to keep up appearances for Stiles’ and Derek’s sake.

“I’m sorry,” Derek said quietly, finally looking at him. “I shouldn’t have let you get dragged into any of this.”

Stiles shrugged and looked down at his legs. “You didn’t let me do anything, I wasn’t going to let you deal with that on your own.”

Derek nodded and then, for just a second, his hand was on Stiles’ where it lay on his thigh. He squeezed gently and then he was out of the car, leaving the key in the ignition.

Stiles waited a beat, watching them walk towards the building. Both of them were limping.

“Damn it,” Stiles sighed. He climbed over the part in the seats into the drivers seat and sat there for a moment, yet again calming himself.

He pressed his palm to his thigh, over his pocket, to make sure his phone was still there. He still had things to deal with, had to call his dad, had to figure things out, probably give a statement, explain why Derek and Laura weren‘t still at the scene, and then, finally, he could crawl into bed and let the world slip away for a bit.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter didn't take as long to write as I thought it would, but it took a long time for me to edit it and get it the way I wanted. I took out chunks, added things, reread it a MILLION times, because this chapter is, to me, probably one of the most important. I wanted it to be as realistic and in character as possible, while still being able to continue this story the way I wanted, and I wasn't sure if I did a good job of it, which is why it took forever to upload. 
> 
> I think my main issue was Stiles' reaction to werewolves, because, well, in the show, he wasn't really all that freaked out. In fact, he found it pretty cool at the beginning. But in this fic he's a bit older, and he's introduced to the supernatural in a kind of crash-course sort of way, you know? So I didn't want his reaction to be, "Oh, wow, dude, werewolves! Badass!" because that didn't seem fitting at ALL. So I had to have him freak out a bit, because that only seemed natural, to the character and the story. But then what I originally wrote was him freaking out a bit too much, and then it just would have felt really unnatural if afterwards he still wanted to be with Derek, when he was that freaked out.
> 
> So, I toned it down a bit. Kept Stiles as still kind of badass and strong, though definitely still susceptible to freaking out over the shit that happened because, well, WEREWOLVES, man. That would be enough to freak anyone out, in my opinion. 
> 
> Annnnnnyways, this was just a long, unnecessary authors note, talking about why this fic took so long to update (four days, I think, though I've had this chapter finished for the past three), and explaining a bit of what happened, because, I don't know, I just wanted you guys to know my thought process on why I wrote it the way I did, even though I'm sure you don't really care. :P
> 
> Thanks for reading. Next chapter has talks about feelings and stuff. Yay.


	19. Chapter 19

Stiles sat in his room, pacing. He needed to sleep, he really did, but he’d given any hope of that up an hour or so ago, when he did nothing but stare at the ceiling and fidget, leg jiggling, fingers tapping on his legs.

He was exhausted. He didn’t go home after leaving Laura and Derek. He called his dad, first, to see where he was. He was at the Hale house, had arrived not long after they’d left, apparently.

Stiles had to go into detail with him over the phone about where the basement room was, and everything that had happened. Stiles edited it a bit, leaving out parts, adding in others. His dad was furious with him for going there alone, kept repeating over and over that Stiles could have been killed, that something bad could have happened, and that he wasn’t ever allowed to do that again.

Stiles promised him he wouldn’t. Tomorrow, he’d have to go down to the station and give an official statement and hand over his cellphone’s memory card with the recording. He also had to give his dad the name of the hotel where Derek and Laura were staying. He called after talking to them, “Poor family. They just can’t get a break.”

“Yeah,” Stiles had agreed.

Then his dad ordered him home, said he’d be in late, because he’d be up most of the night and morning dealing with the case. Stiles had obeyed. He’d went straight home, grabbed a huge glass of Mountain Dew and a handful of chips, and then he’d went upstairs and flopped down onto his bed.

And then, when he still couldn’t sleep, he tried a shower to clean off the dirt from the time he’d spent on the forest floor. The hot water had felt good, and it calmed his nerves better than anything else he’d tried so far. Things started to feel a bit more normal. Until, of course, the sound of a gun firing rang in his ears, and blue and red eyes flashed in his mind.

So he attempted sleep again after that, just so he didn’t have to be awake. Then, when that, too, failed, he started the pacing.

Stiles gave in and pulled his phone out of his pocket and called his dad. “Are you okay?” were the first words out of his father’s mouth.

“Yeah, I’m fine, dad,” Stiles assured him again. “I just wanted to ask you something. I know you’re not allowed to give away information like that but, off the record, do you think-- could you tell me what room he’s staying in?”

“Stiles,” his dad sucked in a breath. “Are you sure you really want to go over there? I think it’s best if you wait until tomorrow. That poor girl was pretty broken up when I went over there, and--,”

“Please,” Stiles begged, squeezing his eyes closed. “I need to talk to him. Please.”

His dad sighed. “He’s in room 109. You didn’t hear it from me.”

“I love you,” Stiles told him.

“You, too. Be careful. I’ll talk to you when I get home.”

“Okay,” Stiles agreed, “bye.”

Stiles pocketed his phone again and sat on the end of his bed. He could go see Derek now. Demand answers. Ask all the questions that flooded his brain. Assure himself that Derek really was okay, and that all that had actually been real, because it felt like a really, really bad dream.

He was kind of scared to, though. Maybe it was best to just stay away for a bit. Give Laura and Derek some time to recover. Give _himself_ some time to recover.

 

\--

 

Stiles knocked a little too loudly on the hotel room door. He didn’t ask Derek for the room number. In fact, Derek had no warning that Stiles was coming at all. Actually, Stiles hadn’t really been sure if he was going to go, either, when he persuaded his father into finding out which room Derek was staying in. But he ended up there anyways.

And he was terrified.

He couldn’t deny it, especially not to himself. He was fucking _scared_. And confused. And just-- shocked. None of this made any sense, things like that didn’t just _happen,_ especially not to people like him. His whole life had been normal and safe and simple. And now it wasn’t.

He let his hand drop to his side and waited. Either Derek would answer, or he would ignore him. Stiles wasn’t sure which one he wanted more.

The door opened and Derek stood there, barefoot, wearing nothing but a loose pair of track pants. He looked exhausted and worn out, and more than a little annoyed.

“Stiles,” he said quietly.

“Can I come in?” Stiles asked before he could stop himself. He couldn’t meet Derek’s eyes, couldn’t look higher than his lips, or his cheeks.

Derek took a step back, leaving the door to the room open. Stiles hesitated for a split second and then walked inside.

Derek was staying at one of the nicer hotels in town, so he really wasn’t surprised to find the room itself not bad at all. There was a large, queen sized bed, and a small kitchenette, and a couch and a television, all crammed inside the tastefully decorated room.

“What do you want, Stiles?” Derek asked, sinking down onto the bed. He moved so that he was laying down, staring up at the ceiling.

Stiles took a moment to look at him without Derek knowing it, taking in the muscles of his stomach, the way his hips dipped lower, the little indentations there disappearing under the waistband of his pants. The small, almost invisible now, scar on his shoulder that, just hours ago, had been a bullet wound. “I just--,” Stiles sighed. “I’m just really confused, okay?”

Derek snorted. “And?”

“And--,” Stiles threw up his hands and crossed the room, sitting on the end of the bed. “I hate you, you know that? You-- you made me Bella Swan, do you realize that?” Stiles froze and moaned. “Oh, god, I’m Bella Swan.”

Derek sat up a bit and raised his eyebrows. “Who?”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Bella- Twilight, the chick from Twilight. Which I only read because I lost a bet to Scott.” Derek still, apparently, wasn’t following. “I’m every dumbass female character from those horribly sexist supernatural horror-slash-romance movies.” He closed his eyes. “I’m that character that meets the perfect guy, falls in love with him before she realizes that said guy is actually a vampire, or, in your case a freaking _werewolf_ , and- and then she says, ‘I’m not scared of you, I love you!’ and every single viewer loses all respect for them.”

Stiles resisted the urge to flop back on the bed. “Fuck, her father was a cop, too! Next thing I know you’ll be sneaking into my bedroom and refusing me sex until we get married.”

Derek quirked an eyebrow at him. “I’m not really partial to marriage.”

“Well that’s--,” Stiles paused. “yeah, okay.”

Derek sat up and crossed his legs in front of him. “And just so you know, you’re not that girl,” he added. “Because you are afraid. I can tell. I can _hear_  it.”

Stiles looked at him sharply. “You can--,”

“Hear your heart. It’s beating so hard in your chest I’d probably be able to hear it down the street.”

Stiles swallowed thickly. His lips felt dry and raw and he raked out his tongue, swiping over them once. “So, um,” he tried to look at Derek again, he did, but he couldn’t. Not when all he could picture was Laura, tied up in that basement cell, hanging from her wrists, face contorted, eyes blazing red, teeth elongated, or Derek, crouched over a limp body, eyes blue. “You can hear my heart beating.”

He did look then, but that was probably a bad idea, because Derek’s eyes were steady on his, still their normal greenish-blue colour that he never could properly name. And he nodded, once, confirming Stiles’ statement.

And now Stiles could hear his heart beating, pounding, actually, and there was a pressure in his head, like he was getting a headache, or maybe it was just about to explode, or he was going to pass out. His hands curled into fists and then splayed out on his thighs, over and over, until his nails dug into his palm hard enough that, really, he should have drawn blood and was only lucky that he didn’t.

“Fuck,” Stiles breathed, because apparently he swore a _lot_ when he was scared. “ _Fuck_.”

“You asked,” Derek said quietly, almost defensively.

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed. His voice wavered. “I just-- do you know how fucked up this is?”

Derek shrugged. “Not really,” he said honestly.

Stiles nodded and stood up. “Okay, so-- what else?”

Derek raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, _what else_? What else can you do?” He took a deep, calming breath. Okay, he attempted to take a deep calming breath. “Werewolf, right, I’ve seen the movies. So what else is there? Just the eyes and the hearing, or--?”

Derek sighed. “Other things,” he admitted.

“So if you, like, bit me--?” the full question wasn’t out of his mouth before Derek was in front of him, crowding him against the door. Stiles let out a surprised squeak.

“Would you want me to?” Derek asked, and his voice was too low and rough, the way it usually was when both of them were wearing a lot less clothes.

Stiles closed his eyes against Derek’s intense stare. Derek had a hand on either side of his head, and this was all so similar to that first day, when Derek told him he needed a distraction, and pressed Stiles up against the door and told him he could stay, or he could go. It felt like the exact same situation, like he was waiting for Stiles to decided whether he wanted to back or not.

He was an idiot. He was fully aware of that. And you know what? Who the fuck cares if he was the Bella Swan to Derek’s Edward. Fuck it, because he couldn’t get Derek out of his head. Couldn’t back away from him, not matter how hard he tried. And he _did_ try. He tried really fucking hard to get over him, and he _couldn’t_. Because, no matter what he told himself, yeah, he was in _love_ with the guy.

But that question, the one hanging between them wasn’t one he could answer right then. “I don’t know,” he said quietly. “No-- maybe. I don’t--,”

Derek took a step back and Stiles noted the way his chest was rising and falling quickly. “Doesn’t matter,” Derek said. “I can’t change you even if you wanted to. The bite has to come from an alpha, and I’m not one.”

Stiles processed this slowly. “Laura--?”

Derek nodded.

“Okay,” Stiles nodded too. “Right,” he needed a moment to think, and he couldn’t with Derek’s eyes on him. “If-- if you could, though, where would you?” He asked without thinking. A throwaway question to distract Derek while he tried to sort out everything in his mind.

He hadn’t really cared, a moment ago, about the answer to that question. Now that it was out there, though, he found himself caring a _lot_  about it. Maybe he had some fucked up kinks. He wouldn’t really be all that surprised, by this point, considering he was standing in a room with a _werewolf_ \-- and _that_ was never going to sound normal.

Derek stepped closer to him again, and Stiles stood extremely still, not moving. Derek’s lips found his neck, but there was no teeth involved. “Not here,” he said, and his hand moved to the bottom of Stiles’ shirt. He pushed it up, bunching it until it was raised above his ribs.

Derek kept eye contact with him as he sunk to his knees and that? That was really not fair, because Stiles was already pretty incapable of thinking. “Maybe here,” he mused, pressing his teeth this time to Stiles’ skin, right above his hip bone.

“Maybe not, actually,” he corrected, and his hand slid down, releasing Stiles’ shirt. Stiles chest heaved as Derek’s fingers found the button on his jeans and easily undid it, sliding down the zipper seconds later. He didn’t pull Stiles’ pants all the way off, just pulled the material down low over his hip, his boxers going with it, until the skin of his thigh, where it met his pelvic bone, was visible. And then Derek bit him there, gentle, not enough to draw blood but enough to leave a faint mark. “Here. Right here.”

“Derek,” Stiles groaned, hand falling to Derek’s shoulders.

“These walls are paper thin, I hope you realize!” A shrill female voice called, and both of them froze. That voice sounded really familiar. “I swear to god I will come over there and kill both if you if you go any farther!”

“Laura,” Derek said, closing his eyes with a groan.

“Sorry!” Stiles called, feeling his cheeks go red. “Is she okay?” Stiles asked quietly.

Derek nodded. “She’ll be fine.”

“Good,” Stiles nodded, and tried not to be annoyed at the fact that Derek was now two feet away from him. “I--,”

“You’re still wrong, you know,” Derek said quickly, cutting him off.

“About what, this time?” Stiles asked, raising an eyebrows and reaching down to do his pants back up.

“You said that-- that girl, the one you don’t want to be, that she was already in love with the guy before she realized what he was.” Derek explained, expression unreadable. “You don’t have to worry about that, because you weren’t.”

Stiles’ hands paused in their movements, and he glared at Derek. “You know I am,” he said, and his voice sounded dangerously low. “Don’t pull that shit, Derek, you _know_ \--,”

Derek shrugged. “I don’t, actually.”

Stiles moved forward and grabbed Derek’s arm, keeping him from turning around and walking away, like he looked about ready to do. “If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be here,” Stiles said slowly. “Okay? I’d be fucking-- fuck, I’d probably of run as far as I could. Because I _am_ scared, alright? Like-- none of this makes any sense. You’re-- you’re a freaking _werewolf_ , dude, and that’s going to take a lot of time to process. But I’m here, aren’t I? Because I can’t _not_ be. No matter how much I really want to not be, I still am, because I love you, and your stupid face, and your stupid emotional constipation, and your cooking, and your apartment, and your sister, and--,”

“Stiles,” Derek said, raising his free hand. He put it on Stiles’ chest, and slowly, really slowly, Stiles’ heart slowed and his breathing got more even. “Me too, okay?”

Stiles looked him steadily in the eyes. “’You too’ what?” Stiles asked.

Derek made a low warning sound but Stiles didn’t back down.

“Say it, or I’m walking away, Derek,” he ordered.

Derek’s hand slipped up to the back of his neck, gently holding him still, and then he leaned in, lips brushing chastely against Stiles’. “I love you,” he said against Stiles’ lips, so quietly that he felt the words against his skin more than he heard them.

“Wasn’t so bad, was it?” Stiles asked, pulling back just far enough to grin at the broody look on Derek’s face.

“I’m going to vomit!” Laura shouted through the wall.

“You really should get your money back for this place,” Stiles told him. “The walls are way too thin.”

Derek looked at the wall with contempt before returning his gaze to Stiles. “That’s not enough though, you know,” Derek said quietly. “To just say it. We need-- there are things we need to talk about. That we need to work out. That you need to know before we even think about try anything again.”

Stiles nodded. “I have a lot of questions, too, you know.”

“I figured,” Derek’s lips quirked up in a small smile.

Stiles tried to harness the casual teasing tone of Derek’s voice. “I don’t know if I should be offended or not.”

“You should be going to bed, is what you should be.” Derek said slowly.

“You want me to go.” Stiles stated.

Derek sighed and turned around to face the bed. “No, I don’t. I never did, you know, when you’d come over to study, or work. I always wanted you to stay. But I don’t think that’s the best idea right now.”

Stiles moved forward and put a hand on Derek’s shoulder blade. “Okay,” he said quietly. “But tomorrow, promise me we’ll talk. We’ll-- we’ll go to dinner, or coffee, or something.”

Derek turned and snorted. “You mean a date.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

Derek crossed his arms over his chest. “We don’t date.” He said, and Stiles was reminded of that time, so long ago, when he’d called Derek and asked him out, and Derek had said flatly, “I don’t date.” Now, that was extended to Stiles, too, and it was kind of true. They’d only really went on a ‘date’ once.

“Maybe we should start.”

Derek took a moment to answer, but finally he said, “Okay.”

Stiles grinned. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow at six.”

Derek raised his eyebrows. “I’m driving. I’ll pick _you_ up tomorrow at six.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Car snob.”

 

\--

 

“How much money do you _have_?” Stiles hissed as they walked into the restaurant. It was the nicest place in town, and Stiles felt seriously underdressed. Everyone else was in dress pants and dress shirts, and he was in a hoodie that had a permanent yellow mustard stain on it, and jeans that used to be really dark blue but had since worn down to a much lighter shade.

Derek fidgeted as they waited for someone to seat them. “A lot,” he said vaguely. He looked as uncomfortable as Stiles felt.

A server walked up to them, taking in Stiles’ outfit with a look of distaste, before resting his eyes on Derek. His expression definitely brightened at that, taking in Derek’s newly shaven apparance -- Stiles actually preferred the stubble, to be honest-- and his dress shirt under the leather jacket.

“What can I do for you two?” the man asked, addressing Derek only. “Seat for two?”

Stiles looked at Derek, and Derek opened his mouth to answer, but Stiles grabbed his arm. “No, we’re leaving.” Stiles told him, tugging Derek out the door. “We are so not eating there.” Stiles said when they were outside. “I talk with my mouth full, and nine times out of ten, I get more food on my hands and face than I do in my mouth. They’d probably have me arrested.”

Derek looked frustrated. “I didn’t know where to go, Laura suggested the place,” he said as they walked back to Derek’s car.

Stiles snorted. “I’m really not surprised.”

Derek pulled open the driver side door but didn’t get in. He met Stiles’ eyes over the top of the car. “I don’t really have a lot of experience with this kind of thing,” he admitted quietly. “I’ve never went on a date.”

Stiles grinned. “I think I actually know the perfect place for us.”

 

\--

 

“Best curly fries in town,” Stiles said as they parked in the lot to the restaurant. “Right?”

Derek ate one and grunted his answer. “I wanted to take you out,” he said quietly, though. “This isn’t a date. This is-- I don’t know what this is.”

“This is _us_ ,” Stiles said. “I mean, come on, dude, we’re definitely not the fancy restaurant, stuffy conversation type. We’re dysfunctional yet delicious.”

“We’re delicious.”

“I am, anyways,” Stiles said, waggling his eyebrows. “And if I remember correctly, so are you.” Stiles dropped the joking tone. “Plus, we can’t really talk about all the stuff we need to talk about in a crowded restaurant with that waiter hanging over our shoulder.”

Stiles thought that the handful of curly fries that Derek shoved in his mouth were used to prolong the conversation. Derek chewed slowly, and Stiles picked at his food. Normally, he’d have scarfed down the burger and fries within minutes -- his best record was a minute and thirty seconds, not that he was bragging--, but his stomach felt like it was churning.

“So,” Derek swallowed. “What do you want to know?”

“Um,” Stiles looked down at his legs. He needed to start somewhere. “You weren’t ever going to tell me?”

Derek looked out the windshield. A few people were walking around outside, none of the sparing a single glance to the shiny black car, or the couple inside it. “No,” Derek said quietly. “Two days ago, I didn’t know if we were ever going to even talk again. I tried messaging you, but you ignored it, and--,”

“I was trying to get over you,” Stiles admitted. “I thought that maybe it was best to just-- stop, you know? Stop feeling things for you, because I figured that you wouldn’t really want me, anyways, or that we wouldn’t work out, and I didn’t-- I didn’t want to get hurt. So I ignored you, and I went out with Kate.”

Derek looked dangerously close to crushing the burger in his hands. “You and Kate,” he started, and Stiles noted the faint blush in his cheeks. “Did you two--,”

“We kissed,” Stiles answered quickly. “That’s it. Sadly, still a virgin.”

Derek let out a breath. “Good,” he nodded. “Good. I--,”

“Are you going to tell me the whole Kate thing?” Stiles asked. “Because she said you two had history, and--,” he stopped talking when Derek put his burger down and wiped a hand over his face. “You don’t have to tell me now.” Stiles told him. “You’re going to have to eventually, but when you’re ready.”

Derek shook his head. “No, we might as well get it over with.” Derek looked at him for a split second. “Because there’s-- like I said last night-- a lot of things that you need to know if we ever plan on this,” he waved a hand between them, “going anywhere.”

“And you want it to go somewhere?”

Derek’s lips twitched, like he was attempting not to smile. “I’m eating French fries and a greasy burger in the back of a parking lot. If I didn’t, none of this would be happening.”

“Point taken.”

Derek was quiet for a few moments after that, and Stiles stared out the window, absently putting curly fries in his mouth as he waited. He was an impatient person, but he knew that Derek needed a minute, so he’d wait as long as it took.

“Kate and I dated in high school,” Derek started, and Stiles looked at him. He was doing exactly what Stiles had been moments before, eyes trained on the window, not really seeing what was on the other side of it. “I was sixteen, she was a bit older, in Laura’s grade, though they didn’t have any classes together. I thought I was I love with her.” He said it in a clipped tone, almost indifferent, like it wasn’t something that had happened to him, but to someone else.

Stiles took this all in and nodded. So Derek and Kate did have history. And he’d went out with the girl, kissed her, even. It was a wonder that Derek didn’t hate him, that Derek didn’t tell him that he never wanted to see him again.

“And?” Stiles asked after a bit. His voice sounded thick.

“And then I found out what she was,” Derek said quietly. “Her family-- all of them, they’re hunters. They’re trained at a young age to hate and kill werewolves, and when they get older, they actually do,” he sucked in a breath. “I didn’t tell anyone. I couldn’t. My parents would kill me, or worse, they’d pack up and move us, and I loved that house. So I didn’t tell anyone, not even Laura. And then… she killed them.”

Stiles wanted to reach out to him, but it was like there was a wall between them, one made of ice and pain and death, and he just couldn’t cross it. “Derek,” he said helplessly, because he wanted to be able to do something, wanted to take that look off of Derek’s face forever, but he _couldn’t_.

“It was my fault, you get that, right?” Derek asked, finally turning to look at Stiles. “ _I’m_ the reason she knew exactly where the house was. I’m the reason she knew exactly when everyone would be home. I’m the reason she knew which rooms everyone would be in. If it wasn’t for me, if I hadn’t shared any of that with her, chances are a lot more of my family would still be alive.”

“Derek,” Stiles said again, but it wasn’t quiet. It was louder, rough, angry. He felt the anger bubbling inside him, burning. “It’s _not your fault_ ,” he said with conviction. “You get that, right? Fuck, Derek, come on, you can’t think that anymore. Do you think Laura believes that? Because I guarantee if you asked her she’d probably slap you for even considering it. You had no control over what she-- what Kate -- did. Do you really think that, if they wanted you guys so badly, they wouldn’t have found another way to get to you?”

Derek shrugged. “Maybe they still would have, but that doesn’t change everything I told her, everything I felt for her.”

“You were sixteen!”

“I was old enough to know what I was doing.”

“So!” Stiles didn’t mean to shout, but now that he had, he couldn’t stop. “You fell in love with her! Big deal! That doesn’t make it your fault. Some people are fucking horrible out there, and they do really fucked up things. How the hell would you have been able to know what she was going to do? If you did, would you have still been with her?”

“No,” Derek answered automatically.

“Exactly! See?” Stiles grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “If you could have saved them, you would have done everything you could. I know you would have. But things happen, Derek, and yeah, that fucking sucks, but you’re still here. And if you spend the rest of your life beating yourself up over something you had no control over, you might as well not be, because that’s not living.”

They were both breathing heavy. Stiles was aware that his face had probably turned an unflattering red, and that his hand was probably crushing Derek’s.

Derek suddenly looked down at his lap and said quietly, “These curly fries are really good.”

Stiles stared at him, mouth open, before saying, “Yeah. They are.”

Derek nodded.

“We’re not done with this conversation, though,” Stiles added.

“I figured that.” Derek admitted.

Stiles sighed. “But--,”

“But thank you,” Derek looked at him, and he had a frown on his face, and his lips were pulled thin over his teeth.

Stiles was taken aback. “For what?’

Derek shrugged. “For not hating me,” he looked away. “For not looking at me differently.”

“Okay.”

The car was silent after that, nothing but the sound of crinkling food wrappers and the occasional slurp from a drink. When they were done Derek didn’t start the car, though, and Stiles balled up his garbage and shoved it back into the bag the food had come in.

“We don’t have to talk about that again,” Stiles told him. “Right now, at least. But, um, I still-- you know, want to know things.”

Derek nodded. “Ask,” he said, leaning back in his seat.

“Alright,” Stiles chewed his lip for a moment. “So how long have you been, um, you know, a we--werewolf?”

“Since I was born.”

Stiles frowned. “Born a werewolf. So that’s a thing. Okay, um, and everyone in your family--?”

“No,” Derek answered. “Sometimes it skips people. I had human family members. They weren’t treated any differently. They were still pack, still important.”

“Still pack,” Stiles repeated. “So the wolf pack thing is--,”

“A figure of speech,” Derek corrected. “Mostly.” He looked at Stiles for a moment, like he was maybe waiting for Stiles to freak out again. But he didn’t. In the light of day, with people milling about around them, the familiar sounds of the city surrounding them, it seemed… bearable. Maybe not okay, maybe not good, but it was something he could deal with, all this… werewolf stuff. “There’s a bond between us, though. And there was a leader, someone in charge. My dad. He was the alpha.”

“And Laura’s the alpha now,” Stiles remembered Derek saying last night.

He nodded. “When they died, she became my alpha.”

“That must suck,” Stiles said without thinking. “I mean, having your older sister be the boss of you.”

“She doesn’t really use it to her advantage most of the time,” Derek told him. His lips quirked up a bit at the sides, though. “But it’s not exactly ideal, no.”

Stiles laughed. “So what about-- are you super fast? Can you do anything else? Like-- okay, I’ve watched a lot of movies, so don’t judge me. But you don’t seem to spout hair everywhere when you change. And you don’t turn into an actual wolf.”

“Not everything from the movies are true, Stiles,” Derek said, looking amused. “But I’m faster than a normal person. Our kind doesn’t get human diseases. We heal quickly. It takes a lot to kill us. Even normal bullets wouldn’t do the job. They have to be laced with wolfsbane.”

“Kate-- last night, she said she had wolfsbane bullets, right?”

Derek’s face took on a steely quality. “Yes,” he said tightly.

“So then why aren’t you--?”

“I had to grab one of the bullets on the way out,” Derek said in a clipped tone. “There’s a way to reverse the affects. It’s not… nice.”

“Huh,” Stiles said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Would it be weird if I said this was kind of cool? In a terrifying way, of course. Like, I’m still really freaked out. And I don’t think I’ll ever go outside after dark alone ever again, but I mean, shit, like, werewolves. Exist. That’s-- wow.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “I’m really not surprised that you manage to find this ‘cool’,” he said while starting the car up. “But I’m glad. That you’re not running away.”

Stiles snorted. “You’re kind of stuck with me, you realize that, right?” he asked. “Because I’m not going anywhere, dude. Unless you tell me to.” He paused. “Unless you say that, like, Spiderman is your favorite Marvel superhero. Because I don’t think I could date you if you did.”

“I haven’t seen any of the Spiderman movies,” Derek said as they pulled out of the parking lot.

“We are so doing that as soon as we get home.”

Derek kind of smiled, like he wouldn’t mind that at all. And Stiles let it all go for a moment, didn’t think too hard about anything, didn’t worry. He just let them settle back into that comfortable mood that they used to manage, where they’d chat about stupid things, and Derek would always look irritated but secretly amused, and Stiles would scoff at his lack of knowledge on all things interesting.

Everything was okay, for once. Not good, yet. Not perfect. Hell, there was still a lot he was confused about, still a lot that needed to be talked over, and said. But it was okay.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this chapter -- and once again, I am apologizing for taking so long for updating. Only because I know how much it sucks to wait for a fic update (though I doubt anyone is sitting there in anticipation, waiting for this, but still ). :)
> 
> (also I'm pretty sure I'm going to have a nice -- though probably awkward-- smutty scene next chapter. As in, farewell, Stiles' virginity. And there's only going to be two more chapters of this fic. Though I've been thinking, and I might end up doing a sequel to this fic, set after college, and it will focus a lot more on the other characters in this fic, though there will still be a good helping of Sterek, there will be more Scisaac, and a LOT more Laura -- and Jackson.)


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: totally awkward first-time sex scene. Seriously. I'm not even kidding. It's definitely awkward, but I hope it was at least slightly sweet? I just wanted to warn you guys beforehand. Also bottom!Derek, in case anyone is, like, against that (though, seriously, I like it better than Stiles being the bottom, but shhh). Go forth and read, my lovelies.

Stiles’ dad didnt tell him exactly how much jail time Kate got, but it was a lot. They haven’t had the official court meeting, but Stiles’ dad was pretty sure that there’s no chance of Kate getting off easily. Before the evidence that Stiles, and Kate just being in Derek’s old house, provided, the station had already had a bit of a case set up. It went cold a few years ago, but they’d even had a witness, who could testify that the girl behind the arson had been wearing a necklace, one they had a very specific description of. One that had been around Kate’s neck when they’d found her.

It kind of sucked, spending the last few days of the holiday either without his dad, or in at the station. But Derek was there a lot of the time too, before he and Laura left to go back home.

Of course, they both at to be at court the day of Kate’s sentencing. Stiles was supposed to be, since he was the owner of the phone that held Kate’s confession, but his father pulled strings -- not that Stiles asked him to-- and got him out of it. Stiles kind of wished he hadn’t, because he sort of wanted to be there for Derek, and he knew Derek would never ask him to, or let him be there if Stiles asked.

He spent a bit of the last few days of break with Isaac and Scott. It wasn’t that they were grossly lovey-dovey with each other that made Stiles decline most of their offers to hang out. It was because Stiles needed to be alone. He needed to think, needed to really mentally sort through everything that had happened.

On the last day of break, his father took the day off. They didn’t do much, really, other than camp out on the couch and watch sports and eat food that he probably shouldn’t have let his dad have. It was nice, though. It was good for them, to just spend time together.

His dad asked questions, mostly about Derek, some about school, a bit about Scott and even Jackson. Stiles even asked about him and Scott’s mom, but that had been really uncomfortable. He wasn’t sure if he was ever going to be comfortable with it, but he really was glad that they were both happy. They deserved each other.

Jackson drove the Porsche back to school, and Isaac rode with Scott, which meant that Stiles drove back alone. Again, he didn’t really mind. In fact, it was probably for the best, because he would have wanted to share everything with Scott or Isaac, and there was a lot he couldn’t tell them.

Shit, he hadn’t even thought about that. He couldn’t tell them about hardly anything. Sure, Scott and Isaac had already got lengthy descriptions about what happened at the Hale house, but Stiles had kept a lot out, especially the werewolf stuff. Not just because they would most likely have him committed if he did, but also because that wasn’t his secret to tell.

Stiles groaned and slid his hand off the wheel to run it over his face. Why did life have to be so complicated? Why couldn’t he just have normal friends and a normal boyfriend and a normal life?

\--

When Stiles got back to the dorms, Scott and Isaac were already there. He had a feeling that Melissa made Isaac sleep on the couch during break, because they were already sprawled out on Scott’s bed, wearing a lot less clothing than Stiles was comfortable with, as if they had to make up for lost time.

“Seriously?” Stiles demanded. “I’m getting you guys a sign that says, ‘Do not come in unless you want to witness our sexual exploitations’ which, by the way, I don’t.”

Scott sat up and pulled on a shirt. Isaac gave the shirt a sufferable look before pulling on one of his own, and he, at least, had the decency to look embarrassed. “Sorry.”

Stiles tried to look put out as he threw his bags onto the floor, but his lips twitched a bit, fighting to put a smile on his face. “You guys are gross,” he said. “But I kind of missed it.”

“Pervert,” Scott said, throwing a pillow at him. “And you were with us on break. You’re acting like we haven’t seen each other in months.”

Stiles shrugged. “Yeah, but that’s different. That’s-- I don’t know, it’s just not the same as being here.”

Isaac looked down at his hands for a moment. “Yeah, you’re kind of right.”

Scott looked lost, but neither Isaac nor Stiles elaborated. It was just that this was his home now. His small room with his stuff thrown everywhere, Scott’s bed inches from his, with Scott and Isaac sitting on it. It was like the place where the three of them belonged together.

Stiles phone vibrated against his thigh and he pulled it out, eyes quickly skimming over the text from Derek.

_Come over when you get home? -- Derek_

Stiles grinned.

“So you two are back together for real?” Scott asked.

Stiles looked up at him. He’d explained, a bit, to Scott about the conversation he and Derek had had. But he and Derek hadn’t really done much talking about the two of them. They’d shared things about themselves with each other, a _lot_ of things, things that maybe they hadn’t ever admitted to anyone else.

They hadn’t really talked much about what they were, though. If they were boyfriends, if they could kiss each other whenever they wanted, just because. If Stiles could wrap an arm around Derek’s waist in public. If they were even going to go out together in public.

“I think,” Stiles said slowly. “I hope so.”

Scott groaned. “I swear to god, if you two don’t work things out and admit that you’re in love with each other--,”

“We did that,” Stiles pointed out.

“Okay, if you guys don’t admit that you want to be together forever and have a bunch of sarcastic, broody children, then I’m going to lock the two of you inside a closet and keep you in there until you do.”

Stiles contemplated that. “If you gave us a bottle of lube, enough condoms to last for a while, and food, I don’t think I’d protest all that much.”

Isaac turned a bright shade of red, and Scott’s face crinkled in disgust. “I hate you, you know that?”

“Love you too,” Stiles told him before pocketing his phone. “I’m going over to Derek’s. I’ll see you guys later. And if you do it on my bed I’ll castrate both of you.”

\--

It felt almost like the first time, knocking on Derek’s door. There had been a time when he’d of just strode right into the apartment, head held high. He didn’t, though, because they weren’t back to that stage, yet. He hoped that they would be eventually, though.

When Derek opened the door, he didn’t grin widely, or pull Stiles into his arms and dramatically kiss him. Instead, he calmly opened the door wide enough for Stiles to come in, and then shut it behind him.

“Hey,” Stiles said as casually as he could.

“Hungry?” Derek asked, and Stiles noticed that he was in just a pair of boxers and an old, faded t-shirt. A t-shirt that was a little too tight on his arms. Stiles liked it on him, and he also kind of wanted to steal it from him.

“I could eat,” he said while slipping off his shoes.

Derek nodded and went into the kitchen, one hand holding up his shirt while the other absently scratched at his stomach. Stiles tried not to find that really, really hot, but he failed. Whatever. He was already doomed where Derek was concerned, he knew it.

“So, how are you?” Stiles said at the same time Derek said, “Laura wants us all to have dinner.”

Stiles blinked at him. “She-- dinner?”

Derek’s back was to him as he pulled open the fridge door. He looked tense, though. “She wants to meet you formally. Her words, not mine.”

“But we’ve met, like, a hundred times.”

“Which I pointed out to her, but she’s insistent.” Derek straightened and looked at him. “You can say no. She’ll take that from you, but not from me.”

Stiles sunk down on the too familiar couch. “Do you want me to?”

Derek shrugged. “She wants to meet you as my boyfriend. I told her that-- that we weren’t. Yet.”

Stiles nodded, because technically, they weren’t. “Do you want me to be?” he asked, because he wanted to. He kind of wished Derek had asked instead, but he knew Derek, knew he wouldn’t be the one to take that step. If he had to, he would, and so he had.

“Obviously,” Derek said unabashedly while pulling out pans from under the sink. “I thought that was pretty clear.”

Stiles grinned. “Just wanted to hear it out loud.”

“So dinner with Laura, then?”

Stiles grabbed for the remote and flicked on the TV. He kept it on mute, though. He liked listening to Derek clanking around in the kitchen. “Sure.”

\--

Laura couldn’t cook like Derek, apparently. She did take the takeout out of the containers and put it on actual plates, though, and they used metal utensils instead of the plastic ones provided, so it was still nice.

Except Stiles figured you could cut the awkwardness in the room with a knife, even one of those shitty plastic ones.

Derek was sitting beside him, and Laura was across from them both. The smell of the Italian takeout that Laura had ordered from her workplace did little to disguise the smell of cupcakes and muffins from the bakery below, and Derek’s nose had wrinkled when they first walked in.

“This is nice, right?” Laura asked, a bright smile on her face. “You’re meeting the family, Stiles, how does it feel?”

“I hope they like me,” Stiles said, and he was only half joking. He thought Laura liked him just fine, but you could never be sure.

Laura laughed loudly. “They do,” she assured him. Her face went serious. “And thank you. For a lot of things.”

Stiles shrugged and looked down at his food. Derek squeezed his leg for a moment under the table. “No problem. Not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal,” Laura repeated. “You saved my life, Stiles. And Derek’s too, and I’m not just talking about that night.”

Stiles didn’t know what to say to that, but apparently he didn’t have to find something, because Derek spoke up first. “Can we just not do the whole emotional, tear-filled declarations, please?”

Laura glared at him. “Absolutely not. I live for emotional, tear-filled declarations.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “You should have taken drama in school. You would have been good at it.”

“You’d of been better, you have that whole tortured artist thing about you.” Laura shot right back. “But instead you’re taking a _cooking_ course.”

Stiles looked up at Derek. “You’re taking cooking?”

Derek narrowed his eyes at Laura. “Yes. And a few other things, but mostly cooking.”

Stiles leaned back against his chair. “Huh,” he said, because that wasn’t surprising at all, given what he’d seen of Derek in the kitchen, and yet it was.

“It’s not a big deal,” Derek said, looking at his plate.

“Sure it is!” Laura exclaimed. “I make fun of him for it all the time.”

“I’m totally buying you an apron for your birthday,” Stiles told Derek, but he wasn’t teasing him. He thought it was really hot, actually. “And you can make us breakfast in it.” He leaned closer to Derek to whisper in his ear, “In _just_ the apron.”

“Okay, family officially hates you.” Laura said abruptly.

Stiles cheeks went red. He was going to have to remember that Laura could hear really, really well.

\--

“That wasn’t so bad,” Stiles said as they climbed into Derek’s car. Derek insisted on driving over. Stiles was offended at Derek’s hatred for his jeep, but even he couldn’t deny that Derek’s car was nicer. “You made it sound like we were going to war.”

“We did,” Derek said solemnly. “And we lost.”

Stiles slipped on his seatbelt. “Come on, it wasn’t that bad.”

Derek raised his eyebrows. “She threw a meatball at me.”

Stiles smirked and poked the spot of marinara sauce on Derek’s shirt. “Battle wounds.”

“Do you want me to drive you back to your dorm?” Derek asked, changing the subject as he started the car.

Stiles hesitated. “Sure,” he said slowly. “Unless-- I mean, if you want, I could-- we could just go back to… to your place, and--,”

Derek’s lips tilted up a bit as he said casually, “We can do that. If you want. Whatever.”

\--

Stiles couldn’t wait to get into the apartment. The issue was that they’d spent so much time apart, he and Derek, and all of that time Stiles spent wanting him. Wanting to be with him. And now that he could, now that he could kiss Derek whenever the hell he wanted, now that he could wrap his arms around Derek’s waist, pull him in, touch him freely, Stiles couldn’t stop.

“Come on,” Stiles urged as he pressed against Derek’s back, lips urgently sliding against Derek’s neck. Derek made an annoyed sound and attempted for what had to be the third time to get the key in the lock.

“This would happen a lot faster if-- _oh_ \-- you’d stop that,” Derek commented breathlessly, gasping when Stiles added teeth to the lips on Derek’s neck.

Stiles had no shame about practically humping Derek’s back in the hallway. Okay, he had a bit, but mostly he was shameless. And Derek _finally_ got the key in the lock, and they stumbled over the threshold, still pressed together, Derek’s back to Stiles’ front.

Until Stiles turned, moving Derek so that they switched spots, and effectively closed the door by pushing Derek against it. “Kind of fitting, right?” Stiles grinned, putting his hands on either sides of Derek’s head. Derek’s hands went to his waist, fingers pushing up the material of his shirt so they could run along Stiles’ waist and stomach, just above his pants. “This is where it all started, right?”

Derek’s fingers dug into his skin a bit. “It started at Subway,” Derek corrected, leaning in to copy Stiles’ movements from the hallway, lips soft and whispering against Stiles’ throat.

Stiles arched into the touch and groaned. “You remember that too, huh?”

“Mhm,” Derek admitted without moving his lips all the way from Stiles’ skin. “Like I’d forget the annoying guy who knocked into me and then spent the next ten minutes checking out my ass.”

“Your back,” Stiles correected him, moving a hand to slide it through Derek’s hair. “You have a really nice back.”

Derek moved his hips forward, just enough to let Stiles know how hard he was, and to get friction between their bodies. Stiles tried not to moan at that because, really, he wasn’t sixteen. He should not be in danger of creaming his pants just because a hot guy rolled their hips together once.

And yet…

“Bedroom,” Stiles said quickly.

The second the words were out of his mouth, Derek picked him up, Stiles’ legs going around Derek’s waist to keep from falling. His hands wound their way around Derek’s neck, and Stiles tried not to be annoyed at the fact that he couldn’t really do anything from that position, since Derek was fully in control, because hey, they were getting to the bedroom. He was totally on board with that.

Derek didn’t even bother with shutting the bedroom door behind them as he carried Stiles to the bed. He didn’t drop him onto the mattress but instead turned, so that he fell backwards, Stiles on top, straddling his hips.

“God,” Stiles moaned, not even trying to hold it back. “I just-- I don’t think I’ll ever get used to having you spread out underneath me.”

Derek’s head tilted back at the words and Stiles leaned forward, pressing their lips together. He tried to kiss Derek slow and softly, but Derek was apparently having none of that, because hips lips parted and his tongue pushed into Stiles’ mouth, sliding against Stiles’ in a demanding, relentless way.

Stiles did not mind at all.

Derek’s hands moved to his back, cupping his ass to pull them harder together, before sliding up to Stiles’ shirt, pulling it upwards. They had to break the kiss to get it off, and then Stiles’ leaned back, his fingers on Derek’s stomach. He pushed Derek’s shirt up, palms laying flat against the taught muscles of Derek’s abdomen.

“Yours too,” Stiles ordered, and Derek leaned up, putting a hand on Stiles’ back to keep him in place, and tugged his own shirt off with one hand. “Impressive,” Stiles told him. Derek smirked. “But we’re going to have to separate to get our pants off.”

Derek practically growled as his eyes fell to Stiles’ crotch, where his erection was totally obviously pressing against the material. “I could always rip them off,” he suggested.

Stiles had to close his eyes at that, but he opened them a moment later and slid off Derek’s body. “As hot as that is, maybe another time, when I’m not wearing my favourite jeans,” he said, fingers fumbling on the buttons of his pants. Derek watched him with heavily lidded eyes as he finally undid the button, zipper following seconds later, and kicked off his pants.

When Stiles’ reached for his boxers, Derek undid his own pants, fingers working much better than Stiles’, apparently. Stiles had to pause his undressing to watch Derek because, really, there was probably not a single soul alive who would look away from Derek undressing for them.

When Derek pulled down his boxers, Stiles tugged his off. Maybe he was once self-conscious around Derek, but right now, he wasn’t. As impossible as it was, Stiles had no doubt in his mind that Derek _wanted him_.

Derek was way faster at undressing than Stiles, and by the time Stiles’ boxers lay at his feet along with his jeans, Derek was leaning up on one arm, eyes skimming over every inch of Stiles’ body, while he gripped himself in his free hand, slowly sliding his hand up his cock.

Stiles shuddered. “Fuck,” he said, walking back to the bed. Derek let himself go so Stiles could crawl back on top of him.

“Do you know how gorgeous you are?” Derek asked, hands on Stiles’ hips as Stiles tried to get his legs on each side of Derek’s body without crushing Derek under his weight.

Stiles froze and met Derek’s eyes. “Have you looked in the mirror, dude?”

Derek shrugged a shoulder. “You wear way too many layers,” Derek told him, one of his hands moving to Stiles’ ribs, fingers running lightly over them. “You wouldn’t know that underneath that, there was--,”

“Was what?” Stiles urged.

Derek leaned up to kiss him, this time taking his time, casually kissing Stiles, like he was trying to let Stiles know that they didn’t have to hurry. That they had all the time in the world.

“You can’t just kiss me to get out of talking,” Stiles breathed against Derek’s lips.

“I can try,” Derek said right back.

Stiles grinned and pushed Derek’s shoulders down so that he was laying flat on the bed again, and then experimentally grinded his body against Derek’s.

It was so perfect, the way they slid together, Derek’s body hard and beautiful underneath him, cocks catching against each other’s. But Stiles wanted more, if Derek would let him.

“Do you--,” he gasped against the skin of Derek’s shoulder. “Do you have--,”

Derek’s eyes were wide and his mouth was open, like he was terrified. “I--,” he swallowed and Stiles watched the way his Adam’s apple bobbed. “I threw it out. I thought-- you and I weren’t-- and there wasn’t anyone else I would--,”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Stiles moaned, using his hands, planted firmly on the mattress, to hold himself up above Derek. “I’m going to kill you.”

Derek looked almost like a kid on Christmas that had just been told they weren’t getting any presents that year. “We can--,”

“Store,” Stiles jumped off Derek and grabbed his pants, not even bothering with the boxers. “Right now. There’s a 24/7 drug mart down the street.”

Derek chuckled but he hurried to dress the same way Stiles did, as if neither of them were willing to wait any longer than necessary. Sure, they could have just done other stuff. Stiles would be happy with whatever Derek was willing to give, and he was pretty sure Derek felt the same way.

But it was like an unspoken agreement between the two of them, they were doing this, tonight, and nothing was going to stop them.

He wasn’t sure what caused the urgency, because he knew, just _knew_ , that this time, there wasn’t going to be anything stopping them. That something wasn’t going to come between them and tear them apart. They’d have time, if they wanted to wait. They could wait for weeks, months, even, and they would still get a chance at this.

Stiles was just done waiting. He wanted Derek. All of him, in any way possible, and Derek wanted that too, he thought.

“Your shirt’s on backwards,” Derek told him as they stepped out of the bedroom. Derek reached down to arrange himself in his pants while Stiles pulled his shirt off and twisted it around.

Stiles paused in their hurried movements and put a hand on Derek’s arm and pulled him in for a kiss. “We don’t have to, you know,” he said quietly. “If you want--,”

“Store,” Derek barked. “Now.”

Stiles grinned and grabbed his hand, pulling him towards the door.

\--

Stiles stared at the things in front of him. There wasn’t really a lot of lube selection at the drug mart, not surprisingly, but there were about fifty different kinds of condoms hanging from little metal hangers, all different sizes, colours (flavours, too), from various different makers. It really wasn’t fair.

“Fuck it,” Stiles mumbled, grabbing a simple black container that held twelve large condoms. Derek was large, right? Or was he medium? What did they judge their sizes by?!

It was nearly one in the morning, and he was, thankfully, the only person in the store. Derek waited in the car, but he was paying, so it was a fair trade off. The woman behind the counter raised her eyebrows as she rang his items through, her lips tilted up in a smile that she was obviously trying to hide.

Stiles felt hyped up, like that time he drank and entire pot of coffee by himself and ate three energy bars. “Yeah, I’m having sex,” Stiles blurted. “With my boyfriend,” he added, because, yep, his foot was already in his mouth, he might as well add the leg, too.

The woman opened her mouth widely but apparently swallowed down whatever comment she had as she passed Stiles his change and then his bag of items. “Have a good night,” she called after him.

He had the decency not to assure that, hell fucking yeah, he was going to have a good night.

“You had to tell her?” Derek asked when he slid into the passenger seat.

Stiles felt himself go red. “I don’t do well under pressure.”

Derek smirked and pulled the car out of the lot. “I hope that doesn’t extend to the bedroom.”

\--

This time, Stiles took the stairs two at a time. When they got into the apartment, the door slammed behind them, and Stiles grabbed Derek roughly by the hips, pulling him closer.

From there, it was kind of a blur of kissing and clothing removal. He was pretty sure his boxers were hanging off the TV, but he couldn’t be sure, because Derek was guiding him to the bedroom, and that was all that really mattered. Derek, him, the bed, the bag that was somehow still clenched tightly in his hand.

Derek flopped onto the bed on his back, staring up at Stiles with wide eyes. He had a cocky expression on his face, like he was sure Stiles wanted him badly -- _obviously_ \-- but underneath that, Stiles could faintly see the nerves. The tightness of his mouth, the way his hands were clenched tightly around the sheet of the bed.

Stiles emptied the contents of the bag onto the bed beside Derek and climbed on top of him once again. He pressed his lips to Derek’s collarbone, and then moved them up, along his neck, where just a bit of stubble made his lips tingle, to his jaw, where a lot of it made his lips burn in the best possible way.

Stiles’ closed his eyes as his lips reached Derek’s, and he blindly reached for the bottle of lube. His hand curled around it and he leaned back from Derek to press the bottle to his chest.

Derek’s hand covered his own, holding it between them, and he sat up a bit. Stiles could see him chewing the inside of his lip as he looked down at their hands twined around the bottle, and then he pulled it away from his chest and placed it in Stiles’ hand, carefully curling Stiles’ fingers around it so that he’d fully understand what Derek was trying to tell him without words.

“You--,” Stiles gaped at him. “You want me to--?”

Derek grunted. “I just figured,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to. I mean--,” Derek’s lips curled up in a smirk. “I’m not saying no to being on top, I just figured you might want to.”

Stiles’ mouth felt dry. Of course, he figured he’d top eventually. It wasn’t like it was set in stone that Stiles would be the bottom. He just didn’t expect for their first time for Derek to just offer himself up like that. Not that he was complaining. Fuck no, he was _not_ complaining.

“Okay,” Stiles agreed, nodding. “Yeah. We can-- _fuck_ , we can definitely do that.”

Derek pushed himself farther up the bed, and Stiles moved to follow him but then realized that he probably had a vantage point from his spot between Derek’s legs.

“This-- this is probably going to suck,” Stiles said suddenly, fingers shaking as he uncapped the bottle. “Like, a lot.”

“It won’t,” Derek said seriously.

Stiles gave him a disbelieving look. “You do realized that I’m virgin, right?”

Derek rolled his eyes and leaned up just far enough to brush his lips against Stiles. “I’m aware,” he said, his lips not moving far from Stiles’ skin. “But just so you know, I don’t really have a lot of experience with this either. Or any, with a guy.”

Stiles nearly dropped the bottle. He hadn’t expected that. In all the times they’d hooked up, Derek had seemed so… confident in what he did. Sucking Stiles off, hand jobs, the works. He hadn’t fumbled through any of them. In fact, he’d been fucking _great_ at it. But-- but it was all new to him, too, and Stiles didn’t know that.

It should have made him feel more confident, but it just made him more nervous, because now it wasn’t just his first time. It was Derek’s, technically, in some ways. That meant that, no matter what happened, he probably wouldn’t forget it, especially if -- when-- Stiles screwed up badly.

“Calm down,” Derek ordered. “You know what you’re doing. We both know you’ve watched more than enough porn to know the basics.”

Stiles made a face at him. “Yeah, but there’s a difference between knowing how and actually, you know, doing it.”

“Stiles,” Derek dropped the teasing tone. “Stop thinking. Just -- just fuck me, okay?”

Stiles wanted a recording of that. He wanted to replay it over and over again, Derek saying those words to him. He wanted to use it as a ringtone. He wanted-- he wanted to have sex with Derek. Right now.

Stiles squeezed some -- or a lot, actually -- lube onto his fingers. He kissed Derek once more and then, with his dry hand, pushed Derek flat against the bed. Derek obliged, eyes heavily lidded. He stroked himself slowly and spread his legs, giving Stiles a clear green light.

Licked his lips and put his freehand on Derek’s thigh. His fingers were slick and probably a bit cold. Stiles bit down on his bottom lip and tried to just _stop thinking_ , like Derek said, and start just _doing_.

He gently circled Derek’s hole and then looked up at Derek for a final confirmation. Derek didn’t say anything, but the expression on his face -- lips parted, eyebrows drawn together-- had Stiles pushing the first finger in slowly. Derek let out a breath like it’d been pulled from his lungs.

“This okay?” Stiles asked, eyes wide.

Derek actually glared at him. “If you don’t stop asking and just _do it_ \--,”

Stiles quirked his finger a bit, and Derek’s mouth clamped closed.

He was still nervous. It wasn’t like he was just suddenly, like, really good at sex. But Derek looked so perfect spread out on the bed, making the quietest of noises as Stiles slowly moved one finger, and then two, in and out of him that it got a little easier, and he stopped questioning every move. It wasn’t like it was awkward because he was questioning it, it wasn’t like he had any regrets, or wasn’t ready. It was just that he wanted it to be as good for Derek as he knew it was going to be for himself.

When Stiles’ fingers brushed against that spot inside of him, Derek let out a sound that Stiles decided he would stop at nothing to hear again and again and again.

When he added a third finger Derek hissed, but didn’t tell him to stop. He could feel how tight Derek was at first, how tense, and then how loose he got the longer Stiles worked on him. Stiles pressed a kiss to Derek’s hip bone and spread his fingers a bit, unable to decide if he wanted to watch Derek’s face as he tried to suppress whatever sounds were attempting to crawl out of his mouth, or the way Derek’s hand slowly worked his own cock.

“Get up here,” Derek ordered.

Stiles blinked down at where he was still pushing his fingers into Derek and then back up to his face before slipping them out slowly. He crawled up Derek’s body, letting them slide together while Derek reached for the box of condoms.

Putting on a condom with lube slicked fingers during your first time is apparently not only awkward as hell, but really, really difficult. Stiles was pretty sure it was only his pure, animalistic determination that managed to get it on, but he did, and that’s all that mattered, really.

“We’re okay?” Stiles asked softly.

“We’re okay,” Derek repeated.

Stiles nodded and kissed Derek’s forehead, first, and then his lips. Maybe they weren’t the kind of couple who would pick each other up flowers randomly, or bring home chocolates for the other. Maybe they wouldn’t whisper sweet nothings to each other over the dinner table, or make nauseatingly sweet faces in public. But this was one time where Stiles wanted things to be slow and meaningful instead of the burning rush that he and Derek usually were.

Stiles’ hands gripped Derek’s waist tightly as he slowly pushed in, the only thing stopping his eyes from closing being his determination to keep eye contact with Derek the whole time. Derek’s stomach muscles tightened and his legs clamped around Stiles’ ass when Stiles bottomed out, and then they just sat there like that for a moment, Stiles breathing heavily, waiting for Derek to give a sign that it was okay to move. If he could move. He was pretty sure he was dangerously close to coming already, and they hadn’t really even started.

It wasn’t perfect, it didn’t exactly last long, and Derek didn’t get off until afterwards, when Stiles -- sweaty, loose limbed, blissed out-- rolled over and gave him an achingly slow blowjob, teasing Derek with his tongue and lips until Derek was writhing underneath his touch.

And he didn’t feel embarrassed. Derek had felt so good, and their bodies fit so well together. He’d learn to last longer. He’d learn to fuck Derek into the mattress until he couldn’t even gasp out Stiles’ name. He was kind of… glad with the way things turned out, because it wasn’t just sex. It was awkward and uncertain and it was just for them.

“I kind of love you, you know that?” Stiles asked, throwing an arm over Derek’s stomach.

Derek grunted, and Stiles took that to mean that Derek felt the same way. “Turn off the light.”

Stiles’ eyes moved to the other side of the room, near the door, where the light switch was situated. There was no way he was going to be able to get over there. “You turn it off,” he replied, letting his head fall onto Derek’s shoulder. He closed his eyes and yawned.

Derek reached down and pulled the blanket over top of them. “Not getting out of this bed for anything.” Derek said firmly.

Stiles grinned against his chest. “’kay. Me neither. We’ll sleep with it on.”

Stiles never slept with the light on. On any other occasion, it would have annoyed him, and he would have just given up and stood up to turn it off. But Derek had an arm around his waist, and he could hear Derek’s heart beating in his chest, and it just wasn’t worth disentangling himself from around Derek.

He fell asleep easily.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The holidays were kind of busy for me, so I didn't get as much writing done as I wanted. And the writing I DID get done, was actually for another fic (I couldn't help it, it demanded to be written, and it's still not done yet, though I have 30k words of it, so yay! [ in case anyone's wondering, it's a Beauty and the Beast Sterek AU, but I kind of took a lot of liberties with the plot? Idk, you guys will see it when I post it, I guess]), but I finally sat myself down and wrote for this fic. Anyways, hope you liked it. It had cringe inducing amounts awkward, I know, but... I wanted it to be that way? If that makes sense? Also, next chapter will be the last of this fic (until I write the sequel, anyways) so thank you guys for joining me on this journey! :D


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